


living for these moments

by thejollypirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Mild Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 99
Words: 240,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2742461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejollypirate/pseuds/thejollypirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This contains a majority of my one-shots. Ones in the beginning are a bit "meh," but after that, they're far better since I've improved. Most of them will be coming off of prompts I receive over on Tumblr. Mainly modern day aus. <b>Previously titled as "Justified."</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you're my home

Killian stood outside where the cool breeze brushed against his skin while he wore his casual leather clothing. In all honesty, he was still a pirate. He was still Captain Hook- a pirate with a stained reputation on his well known ship. He stared at the place where the Jolly Roger used to sit.

"Thought I'd find you by the docks," Emma announced as she pulled her jacket closer to her.

"Well, you found me," his voice was dark, with a playful sensation to it.

She stood a lengthy distance from him, and glanced over at Killian and noticed how still he was. He didn't turn around to acknowledge her presence, nor did it seem like he cared that she was there with him at the moment. Killian sighed, deeply caught up in his thoughts.

Emma looked out at the ocean, the waves crashed softly against each other, "Why're you so distant today, Killian?"

"Hmm, well perhaps I'm a bit reflective of my past," he groaned.

Emma knew Killian head-to-toe. She knew when there was something going on, when he struggled with something. With that in mind, it was like how Killian read Emma like a open book.

She walked towards Killian, slipping her hand in with his, and that caught his attention. He slowly looked down at Emma and noticed the sympathetic look she had. He smiled to himself, the feeling of her hand made him feel as if he belonged, admired, everything he could possibly experience.

"The Jolly Roger was my home, love. Now, I'm in search of a new home," he started and squinted his eyes as the sunlight blinded him.

"Maybe this is your home. Here. Storybrooke," Emma suggested and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Pity. I thought you were my home," he chuckled and stared into the distance.

"What? How exactly is a person your home?"

He turned his head back to Emma and smiled, like how he always did. The one smile she had fallen for.

Emma was genuinely confused. She didn't understand the meaning behind Killian's words. She only looked up at him with a baffled look, where Killian grinned.

"As much as the term 'home' applies to a place, a location, I'd like to say it sometimes represents a person," he released Emma's hand and slid his arm around her waist, "as long as I reside by your side, my heart beating beside yours, _you are my home._ "

Emma opened her mouth to say something else, but decided not to, "You're serious, aren't you?"

Killian confidently nodded, "Aye, love. 'Tis the truth, and always will be."

The both of them stood idly, watching the beautiful view of the ocean. There was a world out there for Killian to discover, and as much as he had the desire to travel out there to experience it, he would only do so with his one true love, Emma Swan. Albeit losing the Jolly Roger, it was a ship that contained memories that he wished to wash away. It was where he'd had lost his only brother, and his first real love. But now he could be fearless, happy, and most importantly, together.

Together with _her._


	2. back in bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One can wake up early, the other dreads it.

Emma and Killian laid still in bed, both having the comfort of each other to satisfy their needs, but then, she had to get out of bed. Duties as a woman called for her, and she was still the Sheriff of Storybrooke.

"Love, w-why get out of bed so early?" his voice scruffy, low, half-awake.

Emma smiled at his response, "Hey, as much as I love being in bed with you, we need food."

"If you love being in bed with me, get back in bed with me, Swan."

"Did you completely disregard the second half of my response?" she replied in a playful, yet serious tone.

"Very much so, lass. C'mon love, get into it!" Killian exclaimed as he rubbed his eyes.

After the defeat of the Snow Queen, and where Rumple decided to stop pursuing his stupid little goals, Storybrooke had been in peace ever since. Every morning was the same, no trouble or evil busting in to cause a ruckus. Everyone in Storybrooke enjoyed in, and hoped to the very ends of the heaven it would stay so calm.

Emma had changed out of her pajamas into her usual clothes and sighed at how lazy Killian was. She watched as he flipped and turned in bed, where he pulled the bedsheets all the way up. Before any more distractions from the horribly good looking pirate in her room, she walked around the bed and pulled the curtains, bright light shined through.

Killian groaned, "Swan, I swear to gods- if this is your plan to get me out of bed, it's not bloody working!" he pulled the sheets up to cover his eyes, and evaded the sunlight that had finally risen while he complained.

She laughed and sat on the edge of the bed, "If that doesn't work..." she yanked the covers off of him and raised her left eyebrow at him,"this sure will."

"God damn it Swan," he coughed, "give me your hand, love. Let me at least kiss it before you go to make breakfast."

Emma extended her hand toward Killian, and he grabbed it. He kissed it with his soft lips, and then with his tight grip, he pulled her into bed where he chuckled to himself. She was on top of him, face to face.

"Hook, I swear I will murder y-" before she could finish her sentence, a set of lips were on hers.

With passion, Killian kissed her softly. Emma caught of guard, could only comply to his actions. Killian slowly pulled away, his forehead against hers.

"I'm a pirate, Emma. I play dirty," he smiled and opened his eyes and saw that Emma was smiling herself.

Emma ran her hands through Killian's messy morning hair, "On second thought, let me lay here a bit longer..."


	3. mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They broke up, but it's okay.

The awkward silences, weird talking, odd behaviour. They tried so hard to make it work, and they got so far with it, but in the end, it didn’t matter. It seemed as they both fell apart, gave up, and no longer tried to make it work again, but that was not the truth. They both tried so hard to stay out of each others ways, but it was impossible. Every breath was a chance not taken.

A single argument about their past broke them apart.

Emma was _devastated_. Killian was going to go _ravage_. Both of them wanted to get back together, they both wanted to make it work once again. But no matter what happened, they both made weird looks at each other, as if they were random strangers. 

No, they were _perfect strangers._

Captain Hook laid in bed, arms behind his head, and stared up at the blank surface, the ceiling.

Emma took swift steps up a set of stairs to visit someone, that someone was Killian Jones. The man she loved, and wouldn’t stop loving until the day of their death.

Emma felt rushed, she wanted to get this over with. She knocked on Hook’s door, and frankly, she didn’t expect any sort of response from him. In fact, she stood there for a few minutes to wait. Of course, she gave him a chance.

“Hook? Please, come out,” she’d beg, wanting to see his handsome face again. To feel that warm embrace of his, to know he cared, to know they would be able spend endless hours cuddling in front of a comforting fire.

Hook heard the words and wanted to ignore her, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Emma would stay and wait. She knew the man she fell in love with would not give up on their love. That he would always try his hardest to fight. 

He dragged his body out of bed as his mind thought that he was not interested in seeing Emma, but for a fact, he was. He wanted to see her so desperately. His stomach churned all the nervousness, the overwhelming emotions that wanted to escape and flow through his body. It was simply being bottled up.

Depleted of energy, he opened the door to see Emma. His face was pale, he felt deserted, but she wanted to change that. Make him feel welcome, to be apart of her life, her family. 

A silence of both words and movements separated them, but not for long. Emma lunged towards Hook for a hug, and so he was surprised of her actions. She’d only been here for so long, and he’d already gotten a hug from her, a real hug. A hug of sympathy, sorrow, forgiveness.

At first, he didn’t respond, but then he swung his good arm around her, holding her as securely as possible. His heart beated as if he had just ran ten miles without a break. _Nostalgia_ filled his insides, he desired this so much after he made mistakes. After he yelled at her for something worthless, his recklessness getting in the way. After his bad side resurfaced for the briefest moment and took the greatest toll on their relationship. 

This was all he ever _wanted_.

Emma held onto _her_ pirate tightly and wished to never let go. Hook returned the embrace for Emma with his firm grip around her. He had already lost her once, he didn’t want to lose her once again over some dumb argument. He didn’t want to make any more mistakes.

“I’m sorry. For everything,” she confessed.

“Swan, didn’t think you’re one for apologies,” he stated and chuckled, “but, I’m not the person to apologize to love, and I hope you never forgive me for what I’ve done to you.”

She parted from the hug, and smiled. The same smile Hook fell in love with.

“You may not forgive yourself, Ho- Killian, but I will.” 

The fluttering nervousness subsided in his stomach, comforted by the presence of his one and only love, Emma Swan.

“Let’s try again?” she suggested.

“Aye, love” he responded, a half-smile showing on his face.


	4. goodbye (i'm sorry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian can only hold onto Emma for so long before he has to slip away from her.
> 
> Set before the curse has taken place, and before Emma and Killian had their goodbye kiss.

The silence floated through the room, where Emma and Killian sat still on the couch. They had a couple of hours before the Shattered Sight curse would take over Storybrooke, and this would be the last night for them to stay at each other's side. 

Killian's body was as tense as a rock, unhappy and worried about what would happen in the near future. Emma had fully fallen asleep on his shoulder from the amount of stress that took a heavy toll on how much rest she was capable of getting.

The man would have to leave by daylight, and leave her to herself. He didn't want to do it. And as much as the curse would be an issue, the Crocodile would be an even larger problem. He held his heart, the heart which held every drop of love he had for Emma, and soon, it would dissipate, being nothing more than particles of sand that would lay on the ground. 

Killian stared at Emma's beauty, how perfect she was. He attempted to calm himself down, but he only clenched his jaw. This was his last chance he could hold Emma tightly, to assure that she would find a solution to the curse, to bring Storybrooke back to it's peaceful self.

"Love, I'm sorry this will be the last time I will be by your side," he mumbled, and stroked her arm as she was fast asleep, "I hope you'll never forgive me for the irrational actions I've made, the pain and the burden I've shoved onto you." 

Killian sighed and kissed the top of her head, "When the sun comes up, I have to part, and these will all soon be memories, and I wish we could've had a bit more than this," he closed his eyes, afraid of what would soon come over them.

Emma turned around, and subconsciously hugged Killian. He took a deep breath and gulped, his fist clenched, his knuckles turned pale. As much as they knew this would eventually happen, they didn't know it would occur so fast.

Killian glanced out the window, the light slowly showed itself over the horizon. They had been there for hours, yet they didn't even realize. Killian sucked in a breath and brushed his knuckles against her cheek, so soft and warm. Now that the sun had risen slowly, he had to depart from Emma's side, and that thought haunted him. 

He used small movements and got off the couch, and laid her down comfortably. Killian kissed her forehead, "Goodbye, Swan... I know you'll find a way to defeat the Snow Queen," he whispered softly.

At last thought, Killian took his leather jacket off and covered Emma as she was deep in her slumber. He kissed her on the forehead once again, and slipped his way out the door quietly.

_"Goodbye."_


	5. ignition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma was finally able to get a bit of sleep, but the fire alarm clearly denied her the rest she needed. Now, she was standing outside talking to her hot neighbour.

Emma was finally able to get some rest, but it didn't even last long. The loud sound of the buzzing from the fire alarm had been set off, and it rung inside her ears. She groaned at the very thought of having to leave her comfortable bed, but her life was more important than a bed that could be replaced. She dragged herself out of bed, and slipped on a pair of her slippers. 

Luckily, the weather was cool, and wasn't freezing. She ran down the stairs of the apartment, where a bunch of people had rushed outside, a relatively far distance sat between them and the building. Emma sighed and yawned, as a man approached her without her realization. She closed her eyes, and tried to get a bit of rest while she waited for the issue to subside.

"Tired, lass?" he asked, his voice sounded very familiar.

"Yup," she responded and opened her eyes to see a man only in boxers in front of her, "oh, it's, uhhhh, you, Killian.”

Killian scoffed, "Can't take in what you see, love?"

Emma rubbed her face, her actions proved how she was extremely embarrassed. She crossed her arms and looked past his shoulder, and saw how the firefighters had discussed the cause of the fire. She stretched her neck, and sighed once again. She wanted to get back into bed since the cool breeze that made contact with her open skin only managed to make her shudder, and give her constant thoughts of the warmth and comfort waiting for her inside.

"Cold? Let me fix that," he shuffled and stood closely next to her.

"Hold your horses, what are you doing?" Emma exclaimed, clearly concerned.

She had her hot, handsome, clearly non-american neighbour beside her, and as much as she had the urge to run her hands through his messy hair and feel his embrace, she didn't think that was the brightest idea. Although being neighbours sufficed at the most basic level, Emma did want to get to know him, to learn of his past, personality, hobbies and more. 

"Sharing body heat, darling," he explained and shrugged.

"Aren't you cold?" she wondered.

"Aye, that I am, but I've endured much worse before love, don't worry about me," he chuckled.

Emma pondered while she watched the firefighters enter and exit out the building. It wasn't even anything big, but someone dropped a cigarette in the hallway, and it ignited a small set of flames that set off the fire alarms. The fire had been long gone since they had escaped the proximity, however Emma stood idly, too mesmerized by her thoughts on her neighbour. 

"Earth to Emma," he poked her a couple of times.

"Oh, uh sorry," she apologized and blushed slightly.

"Oh love, I fear we're going to have a long night if you continue this," he smiled at her, "come over to my place for some coffee?" he suggested.

Emma was hesitant on the idea. They barely knew each other, and it was late, in the middle of the night, yet he invited her to his place for some coffee. She scratched the back of her head and wondered about a response. Rest? Or coffee with her handsome neighbour? Easy choice.

"If you're not into it, that's okay I presume," he kicked the floor, and scratched behind his ear.

"No, no, no, it's okay, sounds like a plan," she smiled with a swift response.

Killian grinned uncontrollably, "Let's go, shall we, love?"

What had she got herself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an idea from a friend of mine, so thanks to her... if she's reading this. However, thank you everyone for the kudos! :)


	6. i kept it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian had a big plan after he got off work, and wanted Emma to know something really special. But when he returned from work, all he saw was a note.
> 
> AU - Taken place in Boston.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Must I say, I had a lot of fun writing this one. I feel like it's one of my best ones so far. 
> 
> _**I hope you're ready for a bit of angst.**_

Killian had finally been able to get off work, and early because he wanted to surprise Emma with a special date. He struggled to find the right key to the door of their house, but he finally managed. He slid the key in and turned, shaking the snow of the beanie he was wearing.

"Love, I'm home!" he announced, taking his shoes off.

The silence stayed, and Killian was confused. He repeated his words, but still nothing, no response, just emptiness. He threw his keys on the counter and looked around. There was also no movement. He made his way up the stairs and checked the bedroom, but it was empty. He searched in the washroom, living room, and then the kitchen. A piece of paper with writing was stuck on the fridge, and he went to check it out.

Within the first couple of words, Killian slammed a fist on the dining table. The message wasn't something he was looking forward to finishing.

"Dear Killian,

Before speaking of anything, I'm sorry. I truly am. But, I was given the opportunity of a wonderful job, however it's all the way in Austin, Texas. I had planned to mention and talk to you about it, but I never got the chance. I never wanted to hurt you, never wanted you to hold a understanding that I'd be leaving you. I didn't wish for this to happen, and as much as I wanted to stay, I just couldn't. You were always the working man in the house, and I sat home doing nothing after being laid off. I felt guilty because no matter how much effort I put myself in to finding a new job, I was unsuccessful. I know you hate me right now, but there was no other choice. You don't deserve a woman who can't put in her own two cents. I'm sorry Killian, I really wish I could've built up the guts to tell you, but I was scared. Scared that you would stop me from this magnificent opportunity, scared that you would yell at me for even considering it, and so I left while you were at work. I'm sorry, but if you truly love me, wait for me, do not resent me, because I will return one day. I _promise._

Love,  
Emma"

Killian was frustrated, his hand on his forehead trying to take in everything the message had said. Was he dreaming? No, he wasn't. He read the paper over and over, thinking the message would change, that it said that she had gone to get groceries, but it wasn't. It really wasn't. She had left him, left him because she finally found a job opportunity waiting for her. But, it costed their love, and she was willing to risk it. 

Killian crumbled the paper up and threw it in the garbage. He slumped down on the couch, trying to keep back the tears. It didn't work. He started to sob. As much as he was happy that she finally got a job she had desired to badly, he was disappointed in the way she perceived that he would react. She thought it was too painful and risky to talk about it, and now she was gone due to her rash assumptions. Was she right all along? Would Killian have screamed at her? No, no, no. No, he certainly wouldn't have. He would do the contrary, and talk about it, be genuine and honest, and work out something. He wouldn't have shoved all his anger on her because he loved her to the depths of the earth. 

Killian fumbled with his phone, frantically going through his contacts to find Emma's number. He dialed her up, but of course it only forwarded him to her voicemail. 

_Sorry that I'm unable to respond, leave a message for me. Bye!_

Her voice echoed in his head, and after a hundred attempts of trying to call her, he decided to text her instead. He left messages that he hoped she would respond to.

_Love, please respond to me._

_I'm sorry you thought I'd yell at you._

_Call me, please._

_I love you._

_I promise I'll wait for you, Swan, I promise._

After his numerous attempts, he stopped. If she wouldn't even pick up her calls, there was no way texts would help. He struggled to keep himself calm. He had trouble sleeping, he had trouble staying focused at work, and most importantly of all, he couldn't stop thinking of Emma's unexpected departure. Every night he blamed himself, and it continued like that for days and months.

\--------------------

Killian had been done with the job a couple of hours early, and he was in a really crappy mood. He had nearly been late for work and yelled at by his boss, got stuck in Boston traffic, and didn't even get to have a breakfast. He didn't start any conversations with a single person at the office, and when he was asked questions, he'd mumble a one word response. When his time was up, he thought he could just go home and drink away his problems.

He parked the car in the driveway, and still lived in the same house since the very beginning of when Emma moved in with him. He was happy, lucky, excited. Now, it brought back memories he dreaded, but he never wanted to abandon them. He had finally moved on after two years, and he was ready to forget her. But that was impossible. There was no way in the world he could forget her. He went through seven hells to get her to love him, he couldn't just throw her away like trash. 

He entered the house and noticed a pair of shoes sitting by the front door. He raised an eyebrow, not knowing he had company. Was it David? No, it was a pair of female shoes. Was it Elsa? Most definitely not her style of footwear. He threw the car keys on the counter and went into the living room. It was her, she was there.

"I-"

"Didn't expect me," she finished off his sentence.

"But... you- what?" he stuttered and couldn't get the words off his tongue.

She put her phone down, and walked toward him, "I'm sorry, Killian."

Killian's jaws clenched as he looked away, astonished by her presence. He held back tears, he held back the urge he had to yell at her for not trying to compromise before her decision. For two straight years, he had suffered, the burden overwhelming him. He had resulted back to constantly drinking rum, it helped him wash away and forget things for a period of time. He became an alcoholic, and that drastically affected his job performance, and the way he spoke to his other friends.

He swallowed and tried to stay at a calm composure, "You never responded to my calls, or texts. You just left me at the blink of an eye," he begun, his voice shaky, "I had something prepared for that night, love. But, you left, and I was in pain for months, for years," he choked on the last few words.

Her hands moved up and cupped his cheeks, "I'm sorry. I truly am. I had a battle with myself about the job position, and I made a decision that hurt you. I never meant it."

Killian took a deep breath and nodded. He knew that Emma was trying to do the best, do what she could at the limit of her abilities. He closed his eyes, and tugged her in with full force for a hug. He couldn't let her go, he just couldn't. She left him once, and he couldn't allow it a second time. He might've had a bad start for the day, but the ending of his day was something he would never forget.

"I _kept_ my promise," he mumbled in her ear.

"I know you did. I knew you would. And, I _kept_ mine," she smiled and noticed something different about him, "you smell like rum."

He chuckled and pulled back, "I might have gone back to drinking rum while you were gone, but I'll stop if the lady says so."

"I'd like that," she admitted.

"As you wish, Swan," he grinned.


	7. move on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma had finally gotten the opportunity to finally defeat Rumplestiltskin. She trained with Regina, being able to control her magic fully, being able to use it at it's highest potential. Now with the guts to go against such a man, she felt ready. But something was there to stop her, and now, she had no choice but to watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for this. I really am.  
>  **If you don't want to feel emotional, I suppose you could skip this one...**

Emma stood on the middle of the street in Storybrooke, and Mr. Gold was not too far of a distance from her. His intense glares dug inside Emma, and in his attempts of trying to intimidate her, he failed miserably. Though Emma was still nervous about her battle with him, she had only one goal in mind, and only kept her thoughts about it. To kill him. To eradicate him from existence.

Mr. Gold had done some terrible things, no, a whole buttload of terrible things. Belle gave him the chances, she saw the possibility of good in him. But the light she shedded on him, the amount of credit she had given him was pointless. He was a man who desired power. That was it. He was a good-for-nothing human being, even considered a monster, who only wanted power and magic. He also wished to have Belle, but that wasn't an option for Belle had left him for quite a while after she discovered how he had been lying to her about the dagger the entire time. He didn't actually trust her, and that shattered her heart to a million shards.

The battle was swift, very little time for either side to pause and think of their next moves. Strides of bright light came from Emma, and then the fouled dark coloured magic came from Rumplestiltskin. She tried her hardest, and time to time Regina would help distract or strike, however none of their plans or attempts at hurting him worked. But, Gold always had a trick up his sleeve.

"Oh dearie, I have something surprising for you," he swirled his hands, a puff smoke appeared, but slowly faded away.

Rumple held a heart, a heart of the purest red, which thumped violently. He whispered some words, and Killian emerged out of the crowd, wincing every so often at the grip of the Crocodile. Emma gasped slightly, and her entire face turned upside down. He had been being controlled the entire time. He had been trying his hardest to be resilient to the hands of Rumpelstiltskin, but he couldn't do that. Not when his heart was being held in his hands. She had been so caught up with other business, she didn't even notice Killian's missing heart.

"Swan, I'm sorry," he murmured, the pain struck him again.

"Gold, don't do it!" Emma yelled in desperation.

She didn't want to watch Killian die. She most definitely did not want to watch him die or suffer from pain. She loved him. She had yet to say so many things to him, she had yet to reveal so many things as well. Meanwhile, Gold gripped his heart even tighter, and Killian squealed from the outstanding amount of pain. Emma couldn't do a single thing. She wanted to take action, but she couldn't only stay a bystander and watch. And quite frankly either way, Gold could crush his heart any moment. And right out of the blue, he did.

"I _love_ you Emma, I always h-h-have, and I alwa-ys will. Please. Moooove," he took large breaths,”on with Henry,” he coughed, "I lied to you, love, but please do it as my _last wish_..." and then he submerged into the pain as he slowly fell to the floor.

"I always win, dearie," Gold exclaimed and in a poof of magic he was gone. 

"No, no, no!" Emma rushed her way over to the still body of Killian Jones, and kneeled down next to him. Pale, frozen. This was impossible.

"Killian, please... please," she begged as tears formed.

David rubbed her back, trying to comfort her. But all she could do was hold him and cry. Cry her heart out. She blamed herself for being so stubborn, so ignorant. It should have been apparent to her that there was something going on, but she didn't notice. And now he was gone, and all she could do was mourn.

"Regina, please... is there no way?" she pouted desperately, wiping the stream of tears off her face.

"I'm afraid not..." she said in an apologetic tone.

\-------------------

A couple of days later, Killian had received a proper memorial. He had a gravestone in the graveyard, and everyone gave their prayers. When the funeral was over, everyone had left besides Emma. She thought she was in a neverending nightmare. And though theoretically she wasn't, she was experiencing one in reality. She _loved_ him. She had never gotten to say those very three words to him. She regretted every moment when she had a chance, but never took it. 

She kneeled down and weeped. She cried, sobbing uncontrollably. She missed him and he missed her. Killian was dead, but in spirit, he was still by Emma's side. He supported her every second of the day, regardless. 

_"Swan, I want to apologize to you five million times, but it's too late. I had dreams of us growing old together, having a happy family,"_ his spirit said, even though she couldn't hear anything, _"I know you will defeat all evil. Bring happy endings back. But one day, we will meet again."_

Emma stayed at Killian's grave for who-knows-how-long. The sun had settled, and no one bothered her, no one looked for her, no one wanted to interrupt her whatsoever. Everyone knew she had lost someone precious. She had lost the most precious person in her life. Someone who trusted her, believed in her, loved her unconditionally.

So now he was long gone and she couldn't bring him back.

He wanted her to move on.

She _never_ did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this was a good idea. I've written a lot of fluffy, nice ones, so I decided to take a turn and y'know, go somewhere deep and dark.
> 
> It's not even that well written, mind you I wrote this in 20 minutes, during the time where my fatigue was about to take over. I didn't even know what I was doing. so, excuse me if it's horribly described, or written.


	8. finally awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian and Emma were driving to their business meeting, but they got crashed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.

_Screeching tires, the sounds of rain, and the sensation and smell of blood._

Killian was driving, and Emma sat in the passenger's seat. They were heading to a business meeting, but then it all happened randomly. A car was rushing a red light, and slammed right into Killian's side, however Emma took the impact as the car flipped over.

"Swan..." his eyes fluttered, trying to reach for her, "Swan..." he couldn't keep speaking, and fell unconscious to the sound of paramedics and police cars.

Hours later, Killian woke up in a secluded room, his brother, Liam, waited for his awakening.

"Little brother, you're awake," he mumbled, his words sincere and caring.

Killian could barely speak or move, he groaned in pain, looking around. He was in the hospital. That was right. They'd been in a car accident earlier on. But, he wasn't concerned about anything else except Emma.

"You need rest, Killian. You have some pretty horrible injuries," Liam told him, standing by his bed.

Killian didn't need to know the details. He just wanted to know if she was _okay_.

"Emma..." he slurred the word, barely able to articulate any words.

"She's... slipped into a _coma_ ," he broke the news to Killian.

That was the worst news he had heard all day.

\---------------

Killian had officially started his recovery. It was a long process, so he had to get back into the groove of walking, and any other physical movements. He had been stuck in bed for five months straight, never leaving it, unless it was on a wheelchair. However, ecstatic he was able of moving around willy-nilly again, he had suffered for the five months. He had suffered long days hoping for news that Emma would awake. It never happened though, and now, he could be released and go home, but he refused. He refused to go home, he wouldn't leave until Emma would wake up from her coma.

"Come on, little brother, let's go home," Liam motioned.

"No, Liam. I'm not leaving," he replied stubbornly, and Liam sighed.

"You can't stay here forever, you know?" 

"Watch me, brother, watch me," he pushed him aside and walked towards Emma's room.

The doctor allowed him to visit daily, and even stay in the room for as long as he needed to. Time to time he would leave for washroom breaks, food, and some exercise, but otherwise, he stuck to her side. 

Killian pulled a chair up next to her bed, held her hand tightly, and laid his head down.

"Emma, please wake up, darling. I'm waiting," he whispered, and fell into a deep slumber.

The next day fell upon them, and Killian slowly lifted his head up to the sound of birds chirping, and sunlight glistening through the windows. He looked down at his watch, and it was 6:34AM. He let go of her hand, kissed her forehead, and left the room to go take a restroom break. 

It was casual, and like every other day he refused to leave.

\---------------

Killian strolled down the hallway, and there was a lot of ruckus. He turned the corner, noticing doctors and nurses that all filed into Emma's room. _No, no, no, no..._ He rushed forward, sprinting at his fastest pace, but the nurses wouldn't let him in yet. He grinded his teeth, clenched his fists and sat down on the small chair-like benches. He waited for seconds, minutes, and then it turned to hours. Liam sat down next to him, trying to comfort him, however none of his attempts worked. Killian held his face in his hands, agitated, frustrated, lost, and confused.

Just as the thoughts of negativity flooded through him, the doctor opened the door, and Killian immediately stood up to his presence. Killian swallowed hard, hoping that it was good news. All he wanted was good news. 

"She woke up- she'll be fine," the doctor stated blantly, yet smiling.

"Gods, Swan!" Killian walked around the doctor, and rushed into the room.

She was alive. After all these months, now nearing a year, she was alive. She was living, she was breathing. He could finally hold her in his hands, knowing that she would survive. That she had been fighting all this time, knowing she had to live, to survive for Killian. Killian knew she wouldn't fall that easily, she was stubborn, strong, resilient.

"You're okay, love, you'll be _okay_ ," his eyes started to water, and Emma slowly smiled in response.

Killian held her hand tightly, firm in grip, "I'm not going to let go, darling. I _never_ will."

That day forward, they finally were reunited together again. Killian thought he had lost it all, that he would lose a second love of his life, but she fought it like a champion. He was proud, happy, excited, filled with emotions. 

_She finally woke up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos guys. Leave comments! It would help me. <3


	9. confrontation (in the heat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hot. It has been the hottest week the entire summer so far. Killian and Emma are both sweating. Their air conditioner breaks down, and now they have to manage without an AC. AU story.

They have been roommates ever since college. Now, they've been living together ever since, and they loved the company they gave each other time to time. Killian would always return late at night, always out drinking at a bar, and Emma would stay home watching what was on Netflix. But one day, they were both stuck at home, because there was a major heat wave, and Killian refused to leave the house due to the hot, humid, weather.

It was the middle of the night, but neither of them could fall asleep due to the heat. Killian laid on the couch shirtless, only in his boxers, hands behind his head. Emma just walked out of the washroom from cooling her face down with cold water. It was refreshing, but then she'd start sweating again.

She checked the fridge, taking out a glass of orange juice. Disgusting. Even that was warm. She sighed loudly, and Killian groaned, unable to get any sleep.

"Gods, this weather is unbearable," he mumbled, sitting up on the couch.

"Don't even mention it," Emma replied, sitting down next to him.

"I guess we won't be getting any rest today."

Emma nodded, and leaned on his shoulder, "Why did our AC have to break on this specific week?" 

"If I had knew why darling, I'd gladly answer your question," he leaned his head over to rest above hers.

She ran her hands through his messy, dark, chest hair and hummed to herself. Killian slowly smiled. They were never so intimate around each other since Killian was always out drinking, being wasted with his friends. Rarely did they have this sort of time together, and Killian wanted to apologize for never being around. He should have cherished every moment they had together, and because of her, he decided to change for the better.

"Sorry," he apologized randomly.

"For what?" she glanced at him momentarily.

"For never being around, love. I'm always out being a drunk," he admitted, "and by the time I'm home, you're already in bed, fast asleep."

Emma chuckled, "It's fine, Killian, you're just out having fun with your 'mates.'"

"No, it's not fine," he insisted, "while I'm busy drinking away, you're home alone. I've now realized how much attention you deserve, and that I can't even give you it," he grinded his teeth.

Her face flipped upside down at the words he was clearly stating. It was true. She was always home alone, and he was always out. There was barely any contact between the two of them, and honestly, the only real time they had spent together was back in college.

"Killian..." she whispered against his moist skin, "it's my fault for not taking action."

"On the contrary, it's been my bloody fault all along. There's only one reason I keep going out," he sighed.

"Which is?"

"To... take my mind off you," he said nervously.

"You're kidding... right?"

Killian shook his head, "No, I'm not, dear."

Emma looked away from him, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. She couldn't deny that she also had feelings for Killian. Maybe this was her chance to admit it too, to finally say the three words, after he finished explaining himself.

"I'm sorry. I keep saying that I'm out having fun, but in reality, I'm drinking my problems away," he stated ashamed, "I can't ever get my mind off of you, love. I simply can't," he reached up, caressing her cheeks, "I like you, Emma. I _love you_ , all of you."

Sweat dripped down his forehead after his confessions, and now that Killian confirmed that he loved her, she now how to do the same... somehow.

"Killian, I-I..." her gaze fixed on Killian's blue eyes, "I.. I stay home to avoid you, to forget that we live together, but n-" 

His lips crashed onto hers, and it was filled with true passion. Desperation for each other. His hand rested on the back of her head, and Emma found her hand ruffling through his hair. Killian's little member grinded against her, and she could feel he wanted her. He pushed Emma, her back on the couch, and Killian lifted himself from the kiss, on top of her. He pushed a strand of her hair away from her face.

"You don't know how long I've desired this, Swan," he murmured. 

Emma brought her hand up to his bare chest, staring deeply into his eyes. She could see how lonely he really was, how much pain he'd suffered waiting for her. She giggled lightly, and Killian sat up fully.

"What's so funny?" Killian frowned.

"I want you, and I never took the initiative," she licked her lips, "don't keep me waiting, Jones. I love you too."

He pulled her out of their position, and began cuddling in a comfortable position. Lo and behold, she fell asleep in his arms. He kissed her on the head, and slowly fell asleep as well. Maybe they needed more days like this. Maybe more days without a working air conditioner.

They _confronted_ their relationship fears.

_I'll change, I promise..._


	10. i'm better (than you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Regina are throwing a get-together, inviting David, Mary Margaret, Killian and Emma. The thing is, Killian and Emma were best friends, and not in any intimate relationship. But, a little bit of daring may have changed their minds. AU story.

"C'mon Emma, join us tonight, we know you're not busy," Regina insisted, talking through the phone.

Emma sighed, and couldn't deny her request, "Fine, I'll go."

Regina whispered some words, most likely toward Robin, and Emma heard a small conversation between the two. 

"Will you go with Killian? I mean, you two give looks at each other," Regina stated.

"I'll consider it. And we do _not_ give looks at each other. He's my best friend, that's all there is," Emma countered.

"Yeah, well keep thinking that. I'm going to go now. Goodbye, Emma," she hung up the phone.

Emma rolled her eyes, and turned around and jumped on her bed. She closed her eyes, and decided to pass a bit of time, to gather her thoughts, and maybe get the guts to ask Killian. She was about to fall asleep, but her cell immediately rang, and she grabbed it.

"Swan," it was Killian.

"Hi, Killian, what's up?" she asked, getting out of bed.

"Robin notified me about the occasion, and told me that you're attending?" 

She hummed through the phone, "Mhm. What about it?" 

"Open up your door, lass," he said hanging up.

What was he thinking about? And what in the world was he doing? Emma strolled down out of her bedroom casually, swinging the door open. Killian was leaning against the wall, and when the door opened, he jumped up up, perky and excited.

"Was about time you opened up," he teased, chuckling a bit.

"Do you want me to close the door on you?" she retaliated, making looks at him.

Oh, she was totally giving him looks. Way too obvious. But she didn’t notice consciously, but others around her always seem to realize they way she looked at him.

"I think I'll pass on that. But Swan, I was thinking... why not go together to the get together?" he suggested, shrugging his shoulders.

"Uhhhhh, I dunno, you tell me," she avoided.

"Come on, it's just some fun darling, no need to be so serious," he raised an eyebrow.

"Fine, fine, fine," she conceded defeat.

Killian gave his smug smile, "See you later then," he winked, and left.

Emma shut the door. She slid down the door and sighed. She was in for a crazy night, and if not crazy, just- abnormal, or different.

\-----------------

Everyone had arrived at Regina and Robin's place. They were a pretty rich couple, though Regina brought in the most money. David and Mary Margaret arrived just on time, Killian and Emma behind them. Regina nudged Emma in a 'I-told-you-so' way, and went to grab some drinks. Emma just sighed and sat down, Killian sat next to her. 

"How's it been, mate?" Killian asked David, motioning his 'hello' at Mary Margaret.

"Good, good. You?" he responded back.

"Pretty decent myself, though Emma here... Isn't exactly into this entire thing," he laughed, and Emma just glared at him with the intent of having to slap him.

"Yeah, thanks for dragging me into this conversation guys," Emma said awhile later, breaking the silence.

"Hey, Killian was the one who said it," David tried proving himself innocent.

"No, you're the one who asked the question."

"I never mentioned Emma in the question, Killian. Don't turn this on me," he scoffed.

Killian threw his hands up in defeat, "Alright mate, you win this time."

They were all having fun, and meanwhile, Robin and Regina brought in some drinks for them. Everyone had wine except Killian, he stuck to his rum, like how he always did. Emma wasn't too enthusiastic about anything, but then Robin had a brilliant idea. At least he thought it was a brilliant idea.

"Should we play Truth or Dare?" he asked, looking at the small crowd.

"I fancy it," Killian shrugged it off.

"Sure, sounds fun!" Mary Margaret smiled.

"Whatever," Emma replied, a bit rude in tone.

"Emma, come on. Stop being such a downer," David insisted.

She sighed and nodded, waiting for the game to begin. The game went on for a bit, some questions for truths were personal, some dares were just plain out ridiculous. It landed on Regina's turn, and she thought of something that would humiliate Emma, because she knew for sure Killian would totally be in for the idea, or at least a bit more tolerant.

"I dare the _both_ of you, to see who's a better kisser,"

"You cannot be serious, Regina. You can dare only dare one person,” Emma said irritated.

Killian just had his egotistical smile on, and didn’t say a single word of objection. Not even his own opinion. 

“Hey, what’s a game with rules? Got to bend them sometimes, right Robin?” she replied, poking Robin.

“Huh, oh yeah!” Robin concurred, scratching the back of his head.

“Killian, are you not going to give your two cents?” she growled at him.

“Ehhh…” he lifted a finger up, scratching his cheek.

“Ugh, I knew this would be a bad idea. I’m leaving,” she declared, getting out of her seat.

“You aren’t going anywhere, Swan,” Killian held his grip on her wrist, and wouldn’t let go. “Excuse us for a moment.”

Killian pulled her into the kitchen, “Why are you in such a bad mood? Is it ‘cause of me? Or, is it because of the bloody dare? Because hell, I just want to have a bit of fun, and you sure are ruining it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is that a signal for me to leave?” Emma retorted, brushing the ruffles off her shirt.

“Gods, Emma, why can’t you chill out? Why are you so heavily concerned about a stupid dare, or the fact I asked you out for tonight?” Killian rubbed his face, clearly out of his game.

“Sorry, but what bothers me is none of your business,” she stated clearly, turning around.

“On the contrary, it is,” he pulled her back, stopping her in her tracks, “I’m your best friend, and you know you can tell me anything. So why? Why are you so angry, so down, so frustrated today?”

_“BECAUSE OF YOU.”_

She said it. She admitted it. She was finally coming out of her shell. Emma felt like she was going through hell. She was not into the whole “I’m going to confess my emotions” thing. She just stood still, staring down at the floor. 

Killian furrowed his eyebrows, confused. He looked around, making sure no one was eavesdropping.

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me. Do I need to repeat myself?” she muttered.

“What do I have anything to do with your bloody mood?” he groaned, rubbing his face again.

“You know why. Have you realized we make looks at each other? Looks that everyone else seems to notice, but not us?” 

He gulped not expecting her response, “I’ve noticed that _you_ make looks at me.”

“That’s not the main point here. Killian, I _like_ you, okay? You’ve been my best friend for ages, I know that, and I cherish all the moments we’ve had as friends, but… I feel like there’s something between us that’s way more than friends.”

Killian closed his eyes and gave a frustrated sigh, “Sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” she shook her head confused.

“For keeping you waiting,” he took a couple of steps forward, “I never meant to neglect you like that- and for that, apologies.”

Killian swept his knuckles across her cheek, and she didn’t stop him. She didn’t stop the intimacy that was going on between them. In fact, she liked it. She finally had the guts to confront her own feelings, and confess it to Killian. 

Killian closed his eyes and kissed Emma, as she didn’t resist. She didn’t push him back saying he was crazy, but she let him. His hands moved down her body, wrapping his arms around her back. He smiled into the kiss, and Emma let out a soft moan at the way he handled her. The way he embraced her, kissed her, and even apologized. All these factors made her realize how much he was meant for her. How much he was the man she had been looking for for ages. Without a doubt, the both of them felt the burning passion inside of them for the opposite companion.

“It’s about time,” David interrupted.

Killian and Emma jumped back, and sighed of relief. It was only David- and then Regina.

“Bloody hell, you just ruined the moment,” Killian complained.

“Get a room next time, don’t you think?” Regina chuckled, a calm tone of her voice lifted the awkwardness, but brought in a bit of tension.

Emma sighed, but then laughed, “I think Killian’s the better kisser, if that answers the question.”

Killian scratched behind his ear, “No, love, you’re the better one.”

“You guys can’t even make your minds up,” Regina claimed, looking at the two.

All of them just laughed it off, pushing it aside. 

\-----------------

It was time to go, and everyone said their farewells. Killian offered Emma a drive home, and she gladly accepted it. But, when they got in the car, everything went hell loose.

His hands rubbed her legs gently, and he leaned over, “Love, I can’t stop thinking of what happened.”

“Neither can I, Killian,” she smiled, embarrassed.

Killian shifted over a bit more, and began having a make-out session with her again. He couldn’t stop. The way their lips were so synchronized, how they both had feelings that flowed straight through, it all made him keep thinking about it. It all made him take action again.

“On second thought, I think I’m the better kisser, love,” he murmured and smiled.

“Whatever.”


	11. no worries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian turns out to be Emma's roommate in college.

Emma walked through the dorms, looking for her room number. To her knowledge, she had to share a room with a guy, but she didn't know who. Very ill notified on her dorm partner, she desired for someone who was normal, or not much of a douche who thinks they're the coolest guy on campus. She finally found the room, dorm number 277. Now, it was a matter of seeing if she arrived first, or second.

She turned the doorknob, and took a glimpse through the doorway. She saw a figure, but didn't get the chance to see his face. The man heard the door open, and he spun around. He knew her, and she knew him.

"Killian?" Emma blurted out surprised.

"Hello, Swan," he smiled, "I presume you're my new roommate?"

"Room 277, am I right?" she questioned, putting her bag down.

"Aye," he responded.

"I guess I am," she shrugged, closing the door behind her. 

She glanced over, noticing he already chose his bed. She shuffled the opposite direction, placing her stuff down and organizing. As much as she was glad it was Killian Jones, she always felt weird around him. He emitted an odd aura, which she felt weirdly attracted to in a way. Not that is was anything bad, but there always seemed to be some tension between them.

_Just stick to your own business. Just stick to your own business._

She repeated words in her mind, to assure herself that she would last throughout the next couple of years. 

Killian tapped Emma on the shoulder, and she jumped slightly at his touch. It was magnetizing. 

"I'm going to go grab some coffee, would you like anything?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh, sure. Grab me a coffee without sugar, but cream," she replied nervously, going back to organizing her belongings on the bed.

"As you wish."

The door closed shut, and Emma sighed of relief. The tension disappeared slightly, though it's vanishment wasn't something confirmed. Even without him being in the same confined space, his smell was enough to distract her. 

\-----------------

After hours of getting organized and familiarized with everything, she was dead tired. Emma plopped down on her bed, finally able to relax before the orientation tomorrow morning. Killian had already fallen asleep, and his soft snoring made Emma smile to herself. For some reason, she found that attractive. It wasn't loud, so it didn't really bother her to any extent.

Her eyes fluttered shut to the calm atmosphere, however her mind was circling around things she shouldn't even be reminded of. Emma flipped and turned numerous times in bed, unable to get proper rest. Nightmares flooded her brain, and she relived them over and over. There was no way in the world she could get the rest she needed by this point. Later on, it was already 2AM, and she was sweating. Her night sweating was a symptom which showed that she was struggling to sleep flawlessly. She then began to murmur in her slumber, and that finally woke Killian up.

Killian opened his eyes slowly, hearing the soft mumbling coming from Emma's bed. He struggled to find his slippers in the dark, and when he did, he immediately ran over to Emma to see if she was doing okay. She wasn't.

He shook her with care, hoping she would wake up from whatever she was having dreams about, but that didn't work. He rested his hand on her forehead, and she was burning hot. He left the room to quickly get a glass of water, and then returned and placed it on the table next to them. Killian couldn't find something to wipe her sweat off, so he removed his shirt quickly and cleaned her up.

"Emma, darling, wake up," he whispered, shaking her again.

Emma violently shook her head, and Killian's voice didn't get to her the first time.

"Wake up," he pulled her up, and stroked her back, "Please."

Emma woke up, panting, frightened from what she had experienced. She swallowed, trying to push away her past memories. However, she noticed she was being embraced by Killian at that very moment, that he was calming her down. She coughed a couple of times, trying to catch her breath.

"Are you okay?" he asked, pulling back.

"I-I think so," she closed her eyes, sighing, "I didn't mean to wake you up..."

Killian smiled, a look of care on his face, "It wasn't intentional, that's fine. From what happened, do you experience it often?"

Emma reluctantly nodded, looking away from him, "I can find another room, I don't want to distur-"

Killian interjected, "No, it's okay Swan. I will gladly take the responsibility during your struggles at night, no need to move out," he assured her, and Emma then noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt, but it was thrown to the side, slightly wet.

"And uh, I couldn't find anything to wipe your forehead," he chuckled, blushing a little bit, "but it's okay. I can handle it."

"Thanks, Killian," she sniffed.

Emma could feel the butterflies in her stomach which evolved from the caterpillars. She felt as if she was falling for him now. The way he wasn't hesitant at all to take care of her, to embrace her and make her feel loved. It was all feelings she hadn't experienced for a couple of years, and in fact, she liked it this time around. She loved how genuine his smile was, how nice he smelled, how his touch lit her up inside.

At that moment, Killian placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, " _No worries_. Oh, and have a drink," he reached over and gave her the water, and smiled like how he always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it bad that I had way too much fun writing this one?


	12. symptoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian has to deal with her sass and vomit.

Emma woke up in the middle of the night, having the urge to vomit. Killian woke up the moment she left the bed, her presence of warmth disappearing. He walked in right behind her, patting her back.

"You okay, love? You need some water?" Killian asked, rubbing her back.

"No, I'm _tooootally_ fine," her sarcasm showed in her voice.

Killian sighed in response, and left to go get her the water she needed. Emma flushed the toilet for the fifth time that night, and Killian returned with a glass of water. He handed it to her, and Emma gladly took it and drank it.

Killian was just about done with her sassy responses. Her mood swings were one thing, and vomiting was another, but every time he asked her a question that needed a simple response, she would complicate it further. He was already being as patient as possible, but the pain of going through a tough woman from the core, to an even tougher woman due to pregnancy made it a horrible experience.

The vomiting had stopped temporarily, and Killian plopped back down in bed, exhausted from dealing with Emma's constant, unexpected behaviour. She laid down next to him, and let her hand rest on his chest.

"Sorry about earlier, you know I can't control myself," she mumbled, eyes closing.

Killian smiled at how she was aware of the way she would act, and time to time, Killian forgave her mistakes. A pregnant woman was a difficult woman to deal with, and Killian didn't think he'd want another child for awhile. He rubbed her extruded belly, and smiled, falling asleep with Emma in his arms.

The next morning, Emma was already head over heels with her pregnancy. She was in the washroom. _Again._ Killian chuckled to himself, pulled his own self out of bed, and checked the washroom to see her slung over the toilet. He snaked his arm around her waist and lifted her up slowly, "Come on, Swan."

Emma groaned, complaining that she didn't want to move. "Kiiiillliiiaaaannnn," she hummed tiredly.

He plopped her down on the bed, kissing her forehead, "Relax, love. I'll make us some food, okay? Our baby needs nutrition, and clearly, you do too," he mocked her, leaving the room to get food.

Killian just made some basics, got some water, and headed back to the bedroom. Good thing she was still in the same place of where he left her. He sat down next to her, and smiled. He handed her the food, and she grabbed it quickly, stuffing it into her mouth. He laughed at how desperate she was, but then her unpredictable words came in again.

"You stupid pirate, why are you laughing?"

He decided to play along, "You're a bloody mess, ask yourself that!"

Emma frowned at his response, "I can admit that I am a mess," she sighed.

"Aw, love, don't be down. Just last a little longer, okay? The baby's due soon," he said, rubbing her cheek with his knuckles after she finished the food.

"Easy for the man to say," she complained, drinking the water.

"Hey! I'm the one putting up with your nonsense, Swan," Killian hissed.

Emma sat up, leaned in and whispered, "Yeah. I know, _moron_."

\-----

The vomiting started to get more intense, and so did the coughing. Her water eventually broke.

"Well, love, let's go have our baby," he insisted, picking her up from the floor. 

"For all we know, it may not even be yoursssss," she slurred.

"Swan, I am going to kill you when you're back to normal," he playfully threatened.

"Pirate against the sheriff? It's on!" 

"Gods, you cheeky little bastard! I love you even though your rude words hurt sometimes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this extremely fun to write. These things are my jam, yo!


	13. notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> notes can spark something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is very mild profanity in this, so if you can't handle the 'f-bomb' once, then you might wanna run or ignore it when you see it.
> 
>  
> 
> _Italics represent thoughts/emphasized words._

The lecture went on for ages, and it felt as if everyone was going to pass out. There were some fools in the class who had already fallen asleep, and no one ever volunteered or suggested anything to their teacher. Killian was taking notes, and he had already filled in a bunch of pages with his forced messy writing. Usually it was be neater, but the speed the educator talked at was too fast for Killian to keep up with if he wrote in his normal style.

"Let's take ten," the teacher announced, and everyone sighed of relief.

Killian ripped out a piece of paper from his notebook, and scribbled a couple of words on it. He had this thing for Emma Swan, the stunning, blonde girl, with attractive green eyes, who sat behind him, so he decided to go a little cliché, and give her a note that asked if she wanted to hang out later.

Killian had heard Emma giggle slightly at his request, and he didn't know if he was to feel nervous about rejection, or happy that she giggled. He felt a tap on the shoulder, and reached over and took the note back to see her response. 

_YES._

Killian felt his heart race at the very moment he saw her mark 'yes' on the piece of paper. He turned around in his seat, and began asking questions.

"Where and when would you like to meet up, love?" he asked, smirking upon his question.

"I don't know Jones, how about Granny's at four?" she suggested.

"Sounds fantastic, I'll be there," he confirmed, and winked.

Killian scored a 'date' with Emma Swan. He could always woo the girls, get the ladies into him, so he wasn't surprised. However, if she did deny, it would have broken his heart. He held feelings toward her, real feelings, and sometimes he swore he could feel something coming from her as well. They communicated as if they had been friends since the very beginning, but Killian had only known Emma for two years. Soon, the two of them would end up in classes separate of each other, so he knew it was time to make a move, and stop delaying his feelings and desires.

"Break over! Everyone back to their seats!"

_Fucking christ, it's over already?_

Killian spun around in his seat, turning his attention back to his professor. He flipped the pages in his notebook, and returned back to the routine of writing notes down.

_Screw all this man, I've got a Emma Swan to impress._


	14. you have me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you don't realize that there is always someone who is there for you.

After sharing a moment outside the diner the night of their return, Killian had been deep in thoughts. She had family, she had friends who cared for her. Who waited patiently for her return, who would support her like a pillar. 

_I have no one._

Killian shut himself in his room above the diner, and didn't come out for a relatively long time. The moment he confessed about giving up his home- The Jolly Roger to bring her back, her eyes had softened in a way he had never noticed before. Whether it was the right thing to do or not, Killian gave up his home for hers. Everything of his own possession was aboard that ship, which included the bad and good memories that had been shared on it.

But the thought came back again- having no where to stay, having no one urgently wait for his return. Killian Jones was just a pirate who tried their best to do the right thing, and though he succeeded, there wasn't any recognition from anyone else beside Emma. It was just normal like that, and he was used to it. After Liam and Milah had faded out of his life, his path had crumbled to pieces, and changed him into being a man he could have avoided all along. Where there was light, he had turned it to darkness. When there was a chance to really change for once, he took a different route.

Too busy with feeling lonely, his room soon held another person more than himself. There was no warning of having a visitor, and there definitely wasn't any knocking at his door. He knew the only person who would bust in like that without a notification would have been his dear love, Emma Swan.

"Killian, we've been looking everywhere for you," she said in between breaths.

"Hm, 'we?' Isn't it more of 'you' have been looking for me?" 

"What are you talking about?"

"No one would look for me. Only you would. No one cares about a pirate who's been used."

"Are you seriously going there right now?"

"Indeed I am, love. I'm not in a very cheerful spirit as you can tell," he replied, and rubbed his forehead. "You have everyone there for you, including me. However, I don't. I have no one to lean on, and definitely no one to hug if I just went through hell. It's just me."

She had proceeded to take steps forward, and her hand rested on his cheek. Her thumb rubbed gently across his cheek, and Killian was idle, not responding to a single movement that came from her. He swallowed the lump in his throat away, licking his lips afterward. 

"That's not true."

"Contrary, love. It is very true," he retaliated.

" _You have me,_ " she blurted out, her voice elevating in volume.

His eyes froze in the moment, his heart raced at an unbelievable speed to where he believed it could have bursted out of his chest. Killian's eyes then retracted, closing. He could feel her touch, the touch which had always made him feel special, which had made him feel loved.

"You will _always_ have me," she repeated, adding in a word for assurance.

Killian shook his head, disappointed in himself, "I've been blinded by my own thoughts, I forgot that you're here."

He watched her lips, curling up into a smile. Killian couldn't hold back anymore, and he was well educated that she had been there for him, and that he had been there for her. He pushed forward, his lips and hers connecting immediately at his demand. He lifted his good hand to cradle the back of her head, hand being tangled throughout her attractive, blond hair. He felt her hands holding onto him tightly, and that made him feel safe and wanted.

Both of them had gotten breathless, and they needed to breath. Their kiss wasn't any mean of desperation, because it felt connected without needing to be hungry. When they parted, Emma smiled, and Killian could feel her hot breath against his skin. His lips never forgot the feeling of hers, no matter how many times he would have tried to forget.

Killian gulped, "I'm sorry for being so blind, love. Thank you for being there for me." 

_I have her._


	15. fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fight - neighbours

A mere 'hello' or 'good morning' was all they ever said to each other. Killian was out drinking one night, and got drunk on his rum, but luckily, he still had control over himself. While taking his leave out of the bar, he had gotten into a fight with Neal, his friend, who would not leave without a battle.

"Neal, no," Killian begged.

"Come on, _mate_ , you deserve a little punch to the face!" he replied, throwing a punch right to his chest. 

The impact of the punch caught him off guard, and when the blow got him good, he fell straight back onto the cement floor, nearly hitting his head first. Killian's jaws clenched, but he could barely move because Neal had pinned him down, and wouldn't let him move. 

"I _don't_ want to fight you, Neal!" Killian exclaimed, but he didn't listen.

Neal didn't buy it at all, and he kept punching Killian, and though none were specifically toward his face, he felt his ribs breaking. Blood spilled out of Killian's mouth, as he just laid there being vulnerable, not caring for the world that he had been punched multiple times by his own friend- who was uncontrollably drunk.

Time passed, and when Neal had stood up to the noise of ruckus, it was Killian's chance to escape. The legs were weak, knees heavy on loads, but he limped away, his arm snaked around his body, trying to get toward his apartment. The hospital would be too far away to get there on foot, so he had no choice but to ask the neighbor he barely spoke to- all he knew was she was stunningly gorgeous.

Killian reached into his pockets, struggling to stand up properly. He slid the authentication card through the little device, and the door was open. He rushed into the elevator, his breaths were heavy, his chest heaved. When he was at the right floor, he dragged himself to her door, knocked, and backed up against the wall in front of her door.

Sounds of shuffling had been heard, but Killian's head was down, trying to stay composed. The door swung open, and when he looked up to see a surprised face, she had questions to ask, but he had more urgent matters to tend to- like his possibly broken ribs.

"Apologies for bothering you this late at night," he huffed out in breaths, "but I need to get to a hospital, love."

"Already on it," she replied, grabbing her keys, slipping on her jacket and putting her shoes on.

She carefully lifted Killian up, her arm going around his shoulders to support him so he could stand a bit more stably. He could hardly lift his head up, and breathing soon became an issue for him. Thank god there was no traffic congestion late at night. She laid him down in the back seat of her yellow volkswagen, and immediately drove her fastest to the hospital.

Killian's eyes opened at the sudden stop from parking, and when he was about to ask if they arrived, she had pulled him out of the car. Nurses immediately rushed to assist her, and then, he fell to the darkness.  


___________________________________

"He's okay, right?"

_"A couple of broken ribs, and bruises, but he should recover in no time."_

_"Thank you, Dr. Whale."_

Killian woke slowly to the conversation they had, and when he tried sitting up, he groaned in pain, remembering Neal had kicked him to the curb. A blurry figure had rushed to his side.

"Don't move, you need to get rest," she had said, the voice trailing through his mind.

Groans of pain and frustration escaped from him, and he just fell asleep again. He was tired. He was exhausted.

___________________________________

Hours flew by, and by the time he woke up, it was the late afternoon of the next day. Killian's vision was clear again, and when he looked around, he saw his lovely neighbour asleep in the chair. A smile grew on his face but, he wasn't sure if he should have waked her up, or just let her get her rest.

Killian stared at the blank ceiling, and rubbed his face. His body had been wrapped pretty tightly, and the only places his body wasn't broken, was his face, his legs, his crotch- thank god- and his arms/hands.

"You're up?" she said as she rubbed her eyes.

"Aye," he responded.

She sighed and smiled, "Thank god you're okay."

She cared for him? Killian had a baffled look on his face, but he was also unusually delighted that she had cared for him. They barely spoke to each other. Only greetings and farewells if they met in the hallway.

"Thank you for the help, lass."

"Couldn't let my neighbor die. But, what happened to you?"

"Long story short- drunk friend."

He noticed her eyes roll, laughing. "Is that supposed to be a laughing matter?" he questioned.

"No, but it's still funny."

A grin was plastered across his face. Her _laugh_. Her _smile_. Her _voice_. Everything about her caught his attention, but he had never noticed before. Now that they were having an actual talk, he had realized how much of a person she was. Everything about her was something a man could always want. And so his desire was much more than friendship now or being simple neighbours.

He had fallen for her.


	16. different

The blank and empty spaces in his head, the thought of being alone without a shoulder to lean on. Where he had started a fire he couldn't blow out. Killian swiftly took the flask out of his pocket, drinking the rum. The drops on his tongue reminding him on his past. The fact he reminisced constantly wasn't his regular behavior, but there was no way to avoid it. The many times he had screwed up because of being a self-absorbed man would come back.

_I'm SELFISH._

_I'm ROTTEN._

_I'm GUILTY._

_I'm a VILLAIN._

His head was down, arms resting on the table. The chatter in Granny's diner didn't help make him feel any more better than what he already felt. Emma had returned his heart, and he should have loved that, that he should have been grateful- and not that he wasn't, but it was that he lied, that he almost broke a promise he made, that he almost broke the person he loved. His eyes closed to the images that roamed in his mind, the images that reminded him of his horrid past. The images that reminded him of how he hurt others, how he never lived his life to the correct extent.

The bitter past that haunted him had nearly made him forget he was sitting in the corner of a public diner. But, her voice so calm, so full of lust, so bloody beautiful, had shaken him out of his thoughts. His head lifted up slowly to her presence, and when she gave him a concerned look, he just avoided eye contact.

_I was close to breaking a promise._

_I was close to breaking my love._

_I was close to leaving her._

"Killian. Killian, come with me," she urged him, grabbing his arm.

Killian rolled his eyes at the very thought of what she was going to do. He complied with her since he had no other choice, and took another sip out of his flask of rum. He had tried so hard, he thought he got so far, but in the end he was back to where he started. A filthy pirate, a filthy past, a filthy man.

The steps up the stairs of Granny's was unenthusiastic, he just groaned in complaints, and Emma just dragged him into the hallway where they had their own privacy. His eyes were filled with regrets, filled with the consuming darkness that he had pushed away for so long, just for her. She shook her head, and Killian cocked his head to the side.

"Why are you like this, Killian? It's not like you," she begun.

"Perhaps I'm just a bit under the weather, love," he retorted.

"It's way more than that, so start talking. The other day you were full of passion, hope. Now, you seem like you're about to die," she explained her observations.

A sigh came from him, "Emma, I tried to be a good man. I tried changing- for you. But, look at where it's gotten me. Nowhere. I made a unbelieveable deal with the crocodile, and that nearly got me killed, which would have meant disappointing you. You think I can just... forgive myself?" Killian's voice was heavy with doubts, groggy, tired, and just about done with everything in life.

"I think you can. Every time you blame yourself, and that's what gets you nowhere. If you would open up your eyes and embrace the fact that you are changing, there would be no misery!"

"Opening up my bloody eyes isn't that easy, Swan! Not when you've had a past that you will _never_ forget," his voice roared out at the last few words.

He waved his hook around while trying to prove his point, and Emma would just turn her head in frustration while tapping her foot impatiently. There was some tension between the two, and neither could deny that they could feel it.

"Things change. People change. Your heart was not black and cursed, so why do you put yourself down? What happened to good form?"

She had a point. Killian only clenched his jaws in response, knowing that he had no other way to respond. His gazes went from Emma's eyes down to his feet, and he only shook his head. A touch of her finger lifted his chin up, while his eyes had the intent to admit everything he had ever done wrong in his past. A clench of his hand, knuckles turning to white from how firm his grip had caught her attention. Killian felt the burning blood inside of him cool down as her hand had rubbed his arm.

"You're a different man. Killian Jones is a _different_ man."

Killian Jones is a different man. A man who changed for the better, and a man who fights for his love. A man who fights for the things he treasures the most, even if it means risking his own life.

"Sorry, love. I really do need to open my eyes," he mumbled, his face relaxing.

A small hesitant smile appeared on him, and though it wasn't something big, it meant more than nothing. Letting go and moving on through the future was better than dwelling in the past and never moving on.

Their encounter was destined, because if it wasn't for Emma Swan, the filthy pirate who only cared for himself would have never improved to become a better man.

_I'm SELFLESS._

_I'm DIFFERENT._

_I'm HONORABLE._

_I'm a HERO._


	17. hangover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Disclaimer:** If you are uncomfortable with swearing, it may not be your liking... Or just ignore it. Also my first time using present tense - pardon for any mistakes if you can. Sorry. I've been trying to write while eating oranges, and it doesn't go so well._

He doesn’t want to go to the party, and that is what his final answer is.

“Liam, I’m not going to some party you guys are having,” Killian answers, running his hand through his hair.

Liam apparently dislikes that answer. “Yes, you are. One night, come on.”

“You’ve never forced me into these before, brother, why now?” he asks.

He is somewhat correct. Liam, his one and only brother, never forces him into anything, and never has, but today was a drastic change. He’s trying desperately to get him to attend the party with him, and that is why he is heavily resisting.

“Perhaps you need a rest from all this college work. You’ve been working too hard, little brother,” Liam insists, pointing at his desk of papers. “Just one night. You might even meet someone to your liking,” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you trying to set me up with someone?” Killian questions.

“At the slightest chance maybe indirectly. But, all your friends are going to be there, so why not just chill out for tonight?”

“I have quite the load of studying to do,” Killian mumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Killian. One night. Relax from your work, mate, it’s News Years Eve. There isn’t anything worse than overexertion,” Liam attempts to persuade.

“Fine, fine, I’ll go. Just, what time is this party?” Killian gives in.

Liam checks his phone for the time. “Two hours.”

“Seven. Alright, I’ll go, just leave me alone while I’m there. Maybe I’ll cram in some studying there,” he teases, throwing Liam a mock filled glance before spinning on his chair back to his table.

Liam sighs. “You’re one hopeless child.”

“Who cares about getting a job and living a life? Brother, what bad form you have,” Killian scoffs, picking up his highlighter and spinning it. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like some peace and quiet for two hours.”

“Yeah, okay. Have fun studying,” Liam mutters, and then the door closes shut behind him.

Killian lets out a hopeless sigh, knowing he’s fallen into the inevitable hands of his brother’s persuasive skills. He wants little to do at the party, and if that means him having to speak to Robin and Victor all night, he honestly prefers bringing his textbook, sitting in the corner, and studying.

It’s stupid.

Time to study isn't even an option for him now. As much as Killian knows he can focus while not getting interrupted, he is not going to focus where people will be drinking alcohol, dancing, laughing, and talking for hours until midnight.

Just stupid.

* * *

Two hours fly by, and he feels the accomplishment of studying without having to worry much about his upcoming exam.

Maybe he can just party, or chill like Liam says.

So, he slips on his light grey v-neck, a sleek black leather jacket, black jeans, and he heads out to the bar that they’re partying at.

Bad mistake.

Killian walks in, and there are people already giving him looks- he doesn’t exactly hold the best reputation around campus, considering a majority of people at the party were actually from school. He slips onto a seat beside Liam who is sitting quietly at the bar, and taps him on the shoulder.

“I hope you know what you’ve gotten me into,” Killian mumbles.

Killian orders a glass of rum before Liam starts to speak up. “Yeah. Why are there even those rumours of you around campus?”

Killian shrugs out of cluelessness. “Quite frankly, I don’t know, and whoever started it deserves a punch to the face, courtesy of me.” The bartender slides him the glass of rum. “If I crash and burn tonight, you’re the one responsible of me, brother.”

“And what if we both crash and burn?” Liam asks in response.

He blinks at Liam and chuckles. “Well, then I believe we are both hopeless tonight if it turns out to be that way.”

The thought of having a bad night flies off from his mind the moment he takes a swig out of his rum. The soothing, yet heavy taste remains on his tongue, and so he decides just to take it easy after that.

Liam pats him on the shoulder and points to a booth at the back of bar. “I’ll be over there if you need me. Your mates are coming, might as well hang around them tonight.”

“Have fun,” Killian mutters, taking a step off of the barstool to approach Robin and Victor.

He nearly forgets to bring his rum with him, so he turns around and snatches it off the counter before he forgets later on, or before someone drugs him- because the last thing he needs tonight is having sex without protection with someone he will hate for the rest of his life.

“Hey, you came!” Victor exclaims, clapping a hand on his back.

“Aye, all thanks to my brother,” Killian declares, pointing at him in the back of the bar talking to his friends. “Otherwise, my arse would still be in my room.”

“Thank your brother for me, would you?” Victor quips.

Killian sighs at his response, and takes a sip of his rum. “I’m glad he got me out, but being here with people thinking that the rumours are true, it disturbs me honestly.”

“Let’s go take a seat and we can talk there,” Robin suggests.

Killian shrugs at the idea, not that he disagrees, he just doesn’t care. He follows behind Robin and Victor. takes a seat, and soon realizes how much he is going to hate tonight.

* * *

Emma is new on campus, around town, and basically everything. Her only friends are David, Mary Margaret and Ruby.

God how she is hating the entire atmosphere.

“Emma, oh my god, there’s this party in like twenty minutes. You gotta come!”

“You sure that’s a good idea? I mean… I just got here a week ago.”

“Yeah, well, that means you’re gonna make some new friends tonight.”

Emma immediately crosses her arms over her chest. “Who said I’m going?”

“I am,” Ruby laughs and pulls on Emma’s arm. “Please?”

“But, what if all these people are drunk?”

“Even better, but I’m sure there will be some sober people!”

Emma laughs sarcastically, “Hah hah, ‘some’ sober.”

“Seriously? Man you gotta get into the mood more! It’s New Years Eve!”

“Okay, okay. I’ll go,” Emma mutters. “Guess I’ll just go change really quickly. I’ll meet you at front.”

“Don’t overdo yourself. You don’t want to attract any hot dudes over, right?” Ruby winks at her, and Emma rolls her eyes. “Just saying…”

Emma turns to head into her dorm. “I’ll see you in ten.”

“Bye!”

Ruby cheerfully hops off down the hallway to her dorm, and Emma heads inside to change. Mary Margaret is just on her laptop, talking to David over Skype or something.

“Hey Emma,” Mary Margaret greets, waving at her.

“Oh, hey. Talking to Dave?”

“Yep. So what was all that commotion outside?”

“Commotion?”

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes. “You get what I mean!”

“Ruby’s dragging me to some New Years party.” Emma sighs. “Guess I’ll just let loose for tonight.”

“You sure about going? You know like, the risks, right?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll keep to myself. I’m sure I’ll be able to fend off some drunktards. Wouldn’t be my first time dealing with them anyways.”

Mary Margaret gives her a small smile. “Ah, well have fun I guess.”

“Sticking to the quiet side of things, huh?” Emma changes her clothes. “David coming over later or something?”

“Yeah, in fact, he should be here in a couple of minutes so, you might want to change faster unless you want my boyfriend to be staring at you.”

“Mary Margaret!” Emma shrieks, giving her a hard glance. “I’m just gonna go now. Don’t know when I’ll be back, but I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry like how you always do.”

“Hey! I do not always worry,” she immediately retaliates.

Emma shrugs and laughs. “Sometimes, I think you’re like my mom or something.”

"I'm just caring!" Mary Margaret defends.

Emma nods jokingly. “Later,” Emma says, and grabs her phone to leave.

“Have fun,” Mary Margaret mutters.

Emma runs into David in the hallway, and they exchange a few words before she heads off because Ruby is probably waiting for her. And, when she did arrive, she is standing there in some vibrant red tight shirt.

“Wow, and you told me not to overdo it?”

“Unlike you, I might be looking for someone tonight.”

“Do you know who, or are you just doing some one night stand, expecting for him to come back the next day type of thing?”

“Shush. I know who I’m looking for.”

“And you haven’t told me?” She feels offended that Ruby doesn’t tell her these type of things, when she’s the one who digs for information from her.

“Look, I know I might be a bit in your face sometimes, but sometimes I want my privacy too!”

Emma returns a surprised look. “Yeah, totally.”

She swears she sees Ruby flip her off, but then she reminds her it’s time to go, that they don’t want to be late. Emma doesn’t exactly like parties that much, especially college ones. Fraternities, sororities, and all this stuff is not her thing. Surprisingly enough, it isn’t much to what she had built up the thought had been. There isn’t as many of these groups as she thought.

The walk to the bar isn’t far, and when she sees a bunch of people walking in, she figures it’s too late to turn back. David and Mary Margaret were in her (and Mary Margaret’s) dorm anyways, so there isn’t a place for her to crash for the night.

Ruby opens the door, and they both slip in.

* * *

Robin is arguing with Victor since he’s never been bowling before. “Mate, are you telling me you haven’t been bowling before?”

“Never been bowling before. What’re you gonna do about that, huh?” Victor teases, taking a sip from his beer.

“First thing’s first, we gotta take you bowling one day!”

Victor rolls his eyes. “Really? Is it that good?”

“Killian what do you think?” Robin asks for Killian’s opinion.

“It’s up to him, really. Why ask me?” Killian shrugs, taking a drink from his rum.

Killian isn’t enjoying himself that much, be he admits that it’s better for him to just hang around his friends rather than studying in his room in boredom.

“Hey, Victor!” 

This is a girl’s voice.

The three of their gazes turn simultaneously to see a lady in bright red, accompanied by another girl who seems to be dragged with her.

“Hi, Ruby. You made it, with a friend?” Victor stands up to hug her.

Woah. Relationship.

“Yeah, this is-” Ruby gets cut off by Emma interjecting. “Emma Swan.”

Her green eyes, curves, blonde curls. Killian feels- weird. Just weird. Being around her, he feels some sort of attraction, but he takes one last drink from his glass of rum before the glass is empty, and sets it down on the table.

“Nice to meet you, Emma. I’m Robin, that,” he points to Killian, “is Killian.”

She nods. “Nice to meet the both of you.”

Killian's tongue slides across his teeth. He is so _fucked._

* * *

Oh no, no, no. She is just screwed. Ruby is having something with Victor, who is a friend of Killian Jones, and Killian Jones is known as the dude who sleeps his way through almost every girl throughout the school campus. Anyone within his range is just a mere tool to him.

This is not what she wants, but _fuck_ , he is attractive.

It should be illegal for him to look so good in that leather jacket. It should be illegal for him to have those piercing blue eyes.

“Want to hang out with us?” Ruby asks.

It shakes her out of her thoughts. 

Oh god.

_Oh god._

“Uh,” _fuck_ , around him? “Sure.”

Victor obviously slips into the booth, making Robin shift over, and that leaves her with a seat beside Killian. Great. _Fucking great._

Emma slides into the seat, and _god_ can she feel his body heat. Her blood is boiling, and so she sits quietly as they speak their own business. When she finds herself unable to keep up with whatever they’re saying, she finally finds her excuse to leave the table.

“I think I’ll go get a drink,” Emma says, getting out of her seat.

“I’ll come along, lass. I need a refill,” Killian claims, lifting his empty glass up.

Well _fuck._ Now she’s going to be stuck with him, alone without Ruby, Victor, or Robin there talking to keep everything subtle and normal. She is going to screw up, and well, that definitely isn’t a good sign for her, not tonight.

She can feel his presence behind her, and when she sits down on the available barstool to take her order, he does the same- and it’s right next to her as well.

“You’re not enjoying yourself,” he makes a wild remark- which is technically true.

“Huh. You’re right. How’d you know I’m not enjoying myself?”

“You’re something as of an open book to me, love,” he mutters before handing his glass to the bartender to refill with the tinted red coloured alcohol.

“Funny you should say that, I can tell you’re not enjoying yourself either,” Emma explains her observation.

He smiles. “Perceptive, aren’t you?”

And holy _hell_ , his smile. She just laughs, thinking it’s enough to cover the feelings she is having for him. Oddly enough, she rarely has feelings for everyone. Especially after Neal.

The other bartender hands her a glass of beer, and she takes a swig of it the second she lays her hands on that thing. “You could say that.”

“Let me guess. That lass over there forced you to attend this bloody celebration?”

And how fucked she is, because his accent just was, and is, too much for her to handle anymore. Oh so fucked.

Emma nods cautiously. “Uhm, yeah. What about you?”

Why is she keeping this conversation going between them? Hardly able to take her eyes off of him, she isn’t able to stop talking either. She cannot get herself in trouble with him, no, she needs to make sure she makes it back in one piece.

“Older brother made me come.” He takes a sip from his rum. “Insists that I should relax since I’m always so concentrated on studying and getting good grades.”

He’s into good grades. She just thinks she’s losing her mind. So he’s not spending his time going through every girl on campus.

“I see. Well, that makes us the two people who don’t exactly have a purpose here,” she mumbles, taking a sip from the beer. “How do you suggest we make it through the night?”

“You tell me, darling. I’m open for anything.” And he winks at her with his contagious smile, and that’s when she is just going crazy and needs to just _drink._

* * *

Killian is unsure of what to do, Emma is extremely drunk- even wasted to say, and now he needs to find a way to get her to somewhere safe and quiet.

Ruby is out somewhere, and he is unable to find her, Victor or Robin, so he decides to take her back to his dorm.

“No, stop it,” she protests.

Her stubbornness is one thing, but god, she is a lot to handle. Killian sighs, “I advise you that staying here will only end in your demise, Swan.”

“But the party’s just begun,” she whines, slurring words.

Killian lifts her up, and throws her arm around his shoulders. “I understand you’d like to head back in there, but love, I’ve had my fair share of experiences, and I’m just about one hundred percent sure those bartenders aren’t going to serve you anything more.”

“Killian.”

 _Fuck._ Why is her drunk self so attractive too?

He sighs. “What, lass?”

“Let me walk myself.”

“Horrible suggestion, love. I predict you won’t get to walk five steps before falling over.”

She throws her hands up in protest, and when she manages to get out of his grip, he watches her stumble over. This time, he picks her up and takes her back to his room. 

“In my predicament, I think it’s best for you to listen to me,” he mutters before taking her back to his dorm.

After having to deal with her being unpleasantly difficult to handle, he finally manages to get back to his dorm and plop her down on his bed. He tucks her into his bed and sighs of relief once she falls asleep. His New Years results in a drunk, beautiful woman in his bed. 

He’s definitely not complaining.

He is so _fucked._

* * *

What the hell?

She wakes up, and it’s not her bed. Definitely not her bed. Her head is pounding, and she remembers a mildly low amount of events from overnight, which concerns her. A lot.

“Ah, you’re up. Was worried you weren’t going to wake,” he says, spinning his chair around.

Fuck. Fuck. _Oh Fuck._

She’s startled for one, and seeing Killian sitting in his chair, focusing on whatever work he is doing, only seems to sort of relieve her of the assumptions she is having.

“What… happened?” Emma shakes her head, the pain slowly subsides.

“From last night? Long story short, you were completely drunk, and I carried you back to get rest. I’m sure you thought I had sex with you love, I’m sure we can make that happen one day, but you really needed to get somewhere safe.” He smirks at her, and god, how melting that is.

She dies when he states he could make that happen one day. At least she wasn’t and isn’t on that list yet.

Emma sits up, gets out of the bed and approaches him. He’s just staring up at her, clueless of her intentions, and when she grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls him up for a kiss, he is just in the position to return the favour.

She is really, _really fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for so little updates on this. Been focused on the longer series.  
> HAPPY NEW YEARS THOUGH!


	18. let you go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a couple of hours running Jaymes Young songs through my ears, I’ve been getting ideas left and right. He is a really talented artist/singer, so you should go check him out. Not a lot of songs, but his work is phenomenal, and you’ll probably want to listen to it on repeat.

**then**

It just wasn’t fair. There wasn’t any balance on his legs, but then again, he’d had rather been alone that night. But, it never occurred to be that way, he was never really alone, but the thought of her roamed his empty mind, finding it’s way through the dark blank spaces.

But it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair how easy it was for him to talk to her. To act around her. To be with her. To persuade her. To like- _love_ her.

She ripped him apart slowly, piece by piece, as if she had knew him all along. He barely managed to keep himself happy after Milah’s death, but there was something keeping him from ever going back to his previous ways. There was someone standing in front of him, someone he actually had feelings for.

The chilly thought turned into a sensation down his spine, his hands froze. He watched his old love start to fade away, and some new light shone into his darkness. He wasn’t blind to that.

But what was there wasn’t true- who was there. It (she) was a figment of his imagination- at least he thought about it that way.

Two years. Two years passed since his previous wife’s death, but now he wasn’t afraid, at least not how he was weeks ago. He watched her laugh, throwing her head back at his humour. He watched her smile, genuine and real, sweet and adorable to his liking. He watched her- felt her touch him softly, the safe and comforting aura emitting off her beautiful body.

He was a cracked piece of glass that wasn’t able to be fixed. The thoughts screamed and shouted at him to back away, that it wasn’t her- it wasn’t. It was just another thing being washed onto the shoreline, a simple _nothing._

Though it was there, not a figment of his imagination, only the truth lied ahead of him. But he thought it had been too much, that there was no way he had gotten another chance at the entire thought of loving another person.

She was his _second_ chance. 

The cool winter breeze sent shivers down both their spines, and when he watched her so happily skip around in the snow, a big grin appeared on his face, only to know that she was happy, and that made him happy too. It made him feel right, that he was going down the correct path, that he had made the right choice, and when he laughed and played around with her in the glistening white snow piles, everything just felt too surreal. Where he had been was something new, fresh, real, and was becoming his reality.

And that night, they had the most intimate moment together. Cuddled in front of the fireplace of their small, yet cozy house, it had been something he had never felt before.

He watched her eyes which filled up with happiness, yet with a touch of a feeling of abandonment. A feeling he had experienced. But that wasn’t all that made him curious, it was the way it felt being around her- not just that-

There was something about her, curled up in his arms, that he could not find. He couldn’t travel the depths of her maze, and no matter how much he saw her as an open book, it had never been enough for him. The cold world of his- he was finally leaving it. Opened up, only to find out what he had never knew; her tough past, her rugged path down her life.

When the eerie darkness of his memories returned, he had been shaken out of the feeling by her. She was special, different, and the feeling of her skin on his was something he was never able to take in. She was in his lungs, the only thing that kept him alive; that kept him breathing. But when drowned in the sorrows of knowing she had the worst beginning, it was as if it was a plead for him to stay, to never leave, to never walk away from her- not like those that had already done so.

He had acceded to all of her demands, all of her wishes. She was a celestial being to her, the only person in his life that had mattered anymore. His brother had passed years prior in a boating accident, and his wife was deceased. But _her_ , this lovely woman, she was there, accepted him, cared for him, made him smile, and made him laugh. Those weren’t things he had experienced for ages.

As he nearly faltered, he regretted his movement, knowing he had nearly pulled away from her. Nearly. Just too little for her to notice, but too much for him to take it in. The habits he had developed all because of her, just because of her, made him cry for help inside. He didn’t want to stay at the same level anymore, he wanted more from her. He wanted her, all of her.

Nights went by, together in bed, only to mumble words of their appreciation for each other before one falls asleep, and the other follows behind. It had been enough.

Time was essential, and after months of their relationship, he took the leap of faith- the one he swore he would miserably fail. But he didn’t, and she accepted him for it, caught him in her arms, and he felt safe again.

He witnessed tears of happiness, tears he had wiped away. There were a lot of embraces, just to keep her intact, and quite frankly, he was putting up his own façade, something he knew that was just there to keep himself together as well.

_I love you._

_And I love you._

He left that cold world of his completely, her warm summer ray of light shone into his life, being his sun. He navigated those damned stars to her, finding her as his only chance. His last chance.

There were just things he couldn’t ignore, and that was his neverending love for her.

He wasn’t the same man who shrivelled up and barricaded themselves away after a loved one’s death, but rather opened up- to give himself that chance again.

And if he had gone back in time, he wouldn’t have changed a single thing.

**now**

_“She’s dead.”_

When he hears those words, he sits down, but cannot keep himself seated whatsoever. He paces up and down the hallway, jaw fully clenching, teeth grinding, fists in a tight grip to where his knuckles turn white.

He feels like he is unable to do anything, to not mourn her passing, to not even have a tear drip down his face. This is his second time, suffering the pain from years ago. This time it is different though, he could feel his insides crumbling down. 

It’s her. Out of everyone again, it’s her, and all of him is dying. He can’t hear her laugh, see her smile, feel her warmth. He can’t feel her grip, he can’t see her be happy, or feel her touch.

This is _loss._

This is _pain_

This is his _fault._

This is _impossible_

This is where he returns back to his cold, dark world. The sun explodes, only leaving the darkness there to remain. He waits for the pain to pass, he tries to keep a calm composure, but he can’t.

He’s saying goodbye. To her. This time he’s pleading for her to stay, for her to live. But no pleading can turn back time, to go back and save her, to go back and wish he arrives on time for her, to take her in his arms and tell her it will be okay. 

It’s all his fault. He knows and knew he shouldn’t have let her go out late at night, but she persuades him this day, this _evening_ and now it’s there- reality slowly losing his grip.

No, this time it’s worse, horrible, nerveracking, deadly, and most of all, _stupid._

Given his second chance, it’s gone, with her. He wants to feel his skin on hers again, he wants to- he needs to. But her pale face, motionless body is all he sees.

He just wants to _breathe_ one last time.

His world is just lies. He’s leaving, and this time, there isn’t a return for him. He promises to be with her soon, to just wait, to see, to listen, to trust.

There’s no turning back, and he says his goodbye.

Staring out into the vast blue sea of violent waves, he glances down at the necklace he wore in her memory. It’s a memento, and though he isn’t the most sentimental, it means everything to him, and it always will- it held her soul, her love, and all of her past.

So he says final goodbye, and this time, for once in days, he remembers all the happy times, the worthwhile moments, and not just the final conclusion. 

He drowns himself, knowing he’s descending into the lasting darkness of the cold water. Light no longer in his sight, he takes one final gulp, and lets go.

_. . ._

There are sounds, movement, and when he opens his eyes rapidly to see a blank ceiling, and not darkness, he realizes one thing.

He’s dreaming, and she’s right there beside him.

He realizes how much she means to him- how much she is worth, how much she deserves to be loved, and how much he needs to be that person in her life. He needs to become hers, and hers only. He realizes how much he will not be able to let her go.


	19. confined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay okay, I had this idea about an elevator AU for a really long time now, but I finally got ideas.

It is perhaps one of the worst days of his life. Hot weather, humid elevators, and the loud thump of noise catches his attention the moment he realizes what’s going on. His clients are not going to be happy about the very delayed meeting.

The damn elevator breaks down.

“Are you kidding me?” the voice beside him exclaims, clearly in frustration.

Now, that voice isn’t just any voice. It’s his boss, Emma Swan, feisty, commanding, and a real challenge to him. Technically speaking, he shouldn’t make any moves on her, she is _his_ boss after all, and if he gets fired, all fingers land of him, so there’s not a single speck of blame he can put on anyone besides himself. But, there are times like this- stupid damn elevator- he wishes he could die.

“Appears we will be stuck for quite awhile, boss.” Being stuck in a confined square space with a woman with stunning green eyes, gorgeous blonde hair, and an infectious smile, it should keep him content, but not for long. Not until he starts running out of ideas on how to keep himself composed around her. Not until he loses his mind. 

Killian’s had quite the crush on her for ages now, well, ever since he laid his eyes on her the moment he got the job. At first, during the interview, she seemed quite serious, but he’s been under her wing for three years now, holding back all the feelings produced, never being more than friends- colleagues even.

He watches her hold back a smile that is supposed to climb onto her face. He would be lying if he said he couldn’t see that there is something between them. She’s something along the lines of an open book, reading her story, understanding her, and diverging deeper into that pool of knowledge. “I suppose,” she grumbles with a sigh coming shortly after.

There’s uncertainty filling his mind of whether he should make a move, but this is his chance to get to know her _outside_ of her boss façade. This is his chance to know her more, maybe _bond_ , if that’s the term to describe their current relationship. This is his _one_ chance to get to know the Emma Swan he has been falling for.

Tension, awkwardness, it’s always something been a thing, especially if they are left alone. That probably explains why she rarely calls him up to his office to speak in private.

“We’re not in the best situation here, but to make time pass by, let’s talk,” he suggests, leaning against the metal bar on the elevator. “What’s your favourite colour? TV show? Singer?”

And she seems to be taken back by his questions. He notices her open her mouth to say something, probably something demanding. She shrugs plainly. “Cerulean. I don’t watch TV often, and I have no specific taste on music. I just listen to whatever catches my attention, you know?”

Killian finds himself chuckling at her statement. A good taste with blue, she probably doesn’t have time to watch TV considering she has to handle _him_ all the time, and then of course she doesn’t have a specific type of music. “Of course, lass, I understand you completely,” he responds. He loosens his tie around his neck, unbuttoning the first two buttons on his white dress shirt. 

“You better not be stripping around me, Jones.” The wild statement makes his blood boil to high levels, making him _nearly_ blush. Killian Jones doesn’t blush, he _never_ blushes, and her damn claim is not going to make him do it. Not around her. Though, there is going to be a time where it’s going to come around unexpectedly, and as much as he would like to push it back, he’d like to rather feel flattered around her than anyone else.

Without much thought on an answer, he decides being straight-forward with a bit of a teasing tone would fare well enough. “Wouldn’t think of it, Swan. Only trying to ensure my survival,” he counters, smiling at her. “You wouldn’t want your best employee dying, would you?” he jokes, arching an eyebrow up at her. 

A laugh escapes her, and this is just the sound he needs to hear. “You’re right about that. I can’t have my top-notch employee die because he got stuck on the fifteenth floor in an elevator with his boss. That’d be a major tragedy,” she replies.

“Top-notch? That’s the first time I’ve heard you say that about me, Swan.” It’s a compliment he takes to heart, and though she might be using a play of words on him with sarcasm, he appreciates that the least she’s doing is being warm around him, not playing the role of his authority.

“I mean, it’s true,” she affirms, adjusting her eyes to lock on with his. It’s like he’s staring into an angel, he’s mesmerized, totally caught up in her looks. “Now, what about you? Colour, shows, movies, music?”

“Green for the colour.” Merely because her eyes are green (he really finds it fitting,) and he will never be able to refuse those looks. “I’m actually not much of a TV person myself, but for movies, I quite fancy The Pirates of the Caribbean franchise,” he answers frankly, feeling slightly embarrassed at mentioning his movie taste. He’s always had a knack for the sea and ships, even behind the black sleek suit he wears each day to work. “Music, well, really depends there, so I agree with you. I listen to whatever I want to when I hear something that catches my attention.”

He realizes how much they have in common by this point. It’s times like these he wants to know her more, dive deeper into this understanding of her personality, her persona, just _her_. Even if it means being nothing more than a good friend- which he will regret if it happens like that- he wants to be there for her, make her laugh and smile, make her angry and frustrated, make her feel cared for. Three years of bottling up his affection for her is not going to go to waste like this.

“Pirates of the Caribbean? I actually love the series, last two has been a bit under the standards, but it’s still fun to watch, don’t you think?”

Joy piles up in his stomach, and it gives him a spark of hope to ignite. “Indeed, I concur.” Taking a leap of faith is the only way he’s going to know about this. “You know, I, uh, uhm, I have the entire blu-ray set. If you’d like to, after this _miserable_ day in the elevator, would you like to come over and watch it with me?” he asks nervously, rubbing the spot behind his ear whenever he gets a bit shy. He’s only shown his shyness towards her, and no one else. 

He doesn’t expect her to answer immediately, or say anything at all in fact, and when she does speak, his heart skips a beat. He swears this woman is going to be worth it in the end. “Are you asking me out on a date?” she questions.

He smiles at the word, but maybe it’s worth taking the shot. “I don’t see it much as a date, but if that is the label you’d like to place on it, I guess it is, Swan. I think we both deserve a bit of a break, don’t you agree?”

“But, there’s a lot of work to do.” He understands what she means, because well, he’s been quite overwhelmed with the clients requests of proving their innocence and all, but it’s not anything she can’t handle, and it’s definitely not something he can’t handle either. He strongly believes that the both of them need some rest.

There’s a little distance between them now, because he approaches her. “Hey, you’ve been working for countless hours, love. I think it’s time you deserve some sort of break, and your _top-notch_ employee is offering you something so you can escape the night,” he tells her, and rests his hand on her shoulder. He’s touching her, but he doesn’t pull back, and she doesn’t pull back either. “You’ve seemed quite vexed lately, and I figured to offer you something to take your mind off all this stressful work. But, by all means, you don’t need to accept the invitation, it was just a mere suggestion, no need to take it to heart, Emma.”

Mistake or not, he’s accidentally used her first name, which he is not supposed to use, and he’s sure he’s just about to get some long speech or lecture about it. He never resorts to using anything other than her surname, and ‘boss.’ 

“You know what? What the hell, I’ll come over tonight.” Her response surprises him genuinely, and he can’t help but grin, and when she notices how happy he seems, it probably does the same to her because she’s smiling like an idiot as well. “Does seven-thirty seem good? I’ll call you.”

“Anytime you want, lass. Now, I guess this plan will only be executed if the damn mechanics can fix the elev-”

The lights turn back on, and everything returns back to normal, the elevator door slides open. It’s an entire crowd of people piled in front, worrying and _staring_.

He realizes his hand is still resting on her shoulder, and he pulls back with a sheepish smile. “Well, I think we’ve made quite the entrance, Swan.”

She chuckles and throws him a glance as she steps out the elevator. “I think _you_ made quite the entrance, Jones.”

He stands still for a second before he reacts and follows behind her. “Tonight, you will forget that this ever happened, and I will make you relax and pass out from the excessive watching of pirate movies,” he whispers, splitting off to go in the opposite direction.

“I look forward to it.”


	20. sketchbook

It’s been an hour of class for her, and there’s another twenty remaining. She swears she’s about to pass out of exhaustion. Maybe taking a really early class was a horrible idea in the first place. Now, there’s nothing she can do because she’s stuck in this class, with this British transfer student who tends to glance over his shoulder whenever he gets the chance to. To be honest, she likes it. His cerulean blue eyes are a wonder, it reminds her of the sea, and she _totally_ wouldn’t mind drowning in that sea of his.

But, even though their relationship has been at the total stop at whatever they do in class, outside of it, they never speak. In fact, this is the only class she has with him. Every other class she has is after his, just off by a single period. It’s ironic enough her classes come right after his, and it’s funny enough that she thinks she might be falling for him. _Might be._

She’s had her fair share at love. It wasn’t the best experience, and well, it got her heart broken, but she managed to pick herself back up. Now that she’s getting distracted because of him who sits three seats down from her, her eyes tend to drift toward him as he’s listening to the professor explain the basic process of designing a building or structure. (She’s listening, sort of.)

He’s spinning the pencil in his hand, and it’s another thing she’s quite distracted by. That movement of the pencil catches her attention in her peripheral vision, and she snaps out of it when that imbecile Will Scarlet barges into the room super, _super_ , late. There’s only ten minutes of class left, and yet he still has the guts to walk into class like normal. He was always getting into trouble, his behaviour is preposterous, but she has to admit, he’s the class clown, and doesn’t seem to care about being the center of attention sometimes. (Not to mention they say he’s a dude who loves to drink all the time, at least ever since he was legal age.)

Class finally ends, and she packs her stuff up slowly, making sure he doesn’t notice her. She glances over at him where he’s about to leave the classroom, and he sends her a small smile. Her heart melts, and she can’t remember the last time someone has made her felt like that. Even during the devoted relationship she had three years ago never made her feel this way. As she steps out of the lane of chairs, she notices a sketchbook was left on the table. _His_ table.

She picks it up to make sure this is who she _thinks_ it is, and of course, like her intuition says, it’s his. _Killian Jones._ Highest ranked architectural student forgets his sketchbook, the most important thing ever, in class for her to find.

While she flips through the several pages of sketches, she realizes how much talent he holds. This potential she sees just from his work is overwhelming, and she notices she doesn’t have a lot of time to get to the next class. So, she stuffs it in her bag, and rushes out of the room, saying goodbye to her professor, and moving on in class.

Through about two more classes, she finds herself brushing past him in the hallway as he leaves, and she enters. It’s like their two ghosts passing by each other, unaware- visually- of their presence, but it’s obvious they can both feel it. It’s like she _completely_ forgets she has his sketchbook, and he’s probably searching everywhere for it, when she has it in her grasp. In her possession.

She’s strolling through campus when it pops into her mind that she needs to return it before she forgets again. When she digs through her bag and pulls it out, she realizes it has a dorm number on it, assuming it’s his dorm. What’s even worse is that it’s _unfairly_ close to her room which is seven rooms down the hallway.

Is she really about to do this?

After five minutes of standing idly and contemplating, she finally decides to return it to him in person. “Damn this guy,” she mutters, walking in the direction of the dormitory building. When she finds herself standing in front of the room, she reluctantly knocks, and the unsettling nervousness in her stomach bursts when he opens the door.

She’s really edgy, but she smiles. “Uh, hey, Killian, you uh, left your sketchbook in class this morning,” she stutters, handing him the hardcover sketchbook. “I forgot to give it to you when I saw you in the hallway, sorry if I’ve left you worrying.”

He takes the sketchbook from her, and the tips of his fingers brush against hers. “Thank you, love.” He turns around and throws the sketchbook somewhere- his bed probably, and turns back to face her. “It’s highly probable you’re going to hate me for this, but I purposely left my sketchbook there for you to find,” he admits, a big grin showing on his face. “I’m quite perceptive, and you’re something of an open book, I can tell you’re interested.”

Emma doesn’t know whether she’s supposed to feel offended about how obvious her feelings are to him, angry at how he purposely left his sketchbook behind to make her return it, or to feel happy he made the move on her. “Woah, hold it there buddy. Interested? Open book?” she asks, scrunching her nose slightly.

“You’re telling me that you don’t enjoy it when I steal a look at you, or smile _directly_ at you when I leave the class?” he asks, his self-confidence very evident and upfront. He’s staring deeply into her eyes, and that is where she can’t take enough of his blue eyes, the ones she _wants_ to drown in so desperately. 

Granted, this is the sign of attraction she cannot ignore anymore- it’s eating her slowly inside. “No, no. I mean, yes I enjoy it, but-”

He brings his hand up to stop her from humiliating yourself. “Stop it, Swan. I don’t mean to be too straightforward, but I can tell you like me, and that you’re a little bit frightened about taking that step forward,” he interrupts her. “Or, are you scared of my denying you? Is that it? _Denial_?”

That word- that moment sheds light on a lot of things. She realizes how much he’s right. She is scared of denial, she is scared for feeling loved again, she is scared because she doesn’t want to hand her heart to a man on a silver platter and have it be broken a second time. The first time was painful, she doesn’t want to experience it for a second. That’s why. That’s why as much as she is attracted to him, she doesn’t want to make a mistake in her life, to take a dumb risk.

Also, it explains how she avoids engaging in any conversation with him. Not that they’ve never spoken before, but it’s obvious now how much she’s young and dumb, making mistakes left and right. It’s obvious, and yet she’s never noticed in all her life.

She snaps out of her little trance, noticing him smiling _genuinely_ with a hint of worry in his eyes. “Your face is giving it away, love,” he says. “You’ve been hurt by a man before.”

His tone in voice changes, and she promptly frowns. “I wouldn’t consider him a man,” she grumbles, looking away. She needs to take her eyes off of him before she loses her mind. His thick accent is enough to make her nearly swoon, and Emma Swan does not swoon. “Look, I better go, it was nice talking though,” she says, turning on her heels.

If there’s one thing she learns, he has incredibly rapid reflexes. His fingers wrap around her wrist, the feeling jolting through her entire body. “ _Emma_.” His call is like a breathe, a prayer, soft and gentle, yet demanding and serious. “Give me a chance to prove you wrong. Our looks at each other, they must mean something, because it does for me,” he confesses, pulling her back toward him.

Her body is up against his, and as much as she has the urge to run, she doesn’t, she listens to his words, taking them into consideration. “Sorry,” she croaks out, swallowing, trying to get that damn cluster of nervousness out from her throat. 

Killian smiles, pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “There’s no apologies in order, Swan. Just give me one night to prove you different, and if you don’t want me after that, I won’t chase after you, I won’t force you, but I won’t leave.” He pulls her inside his dorm, and shuts the door and spins around to face her, she doesn’t resist or protest. “I will help you when you fall, I will be there when you need someone, but please, do not push me away like nothing.”

It’s like a balloon that flattens the moment it’s being popped, because right now, Emma is resisting all urges to trust him, yet everything inside of her, in her guts, in her _heart_ is telling her to take the stupid chance with him. She’s about to pop herself.

“ _Okay._ ” 

It’s the one word she says before he’s grinning like smug bastard. Her heart flutters, and this time it doesn’t skip a beat, the pace is steady, and she knows she is ready to take the step forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _this was really cute to write. lol._


	21. wide awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened during the missing year? What happened within the pirate’s mind while sleeping aboard the Jolly Roger, back in his cabin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I failed halfway with working on Chapter 08 on “Where Broken Paths Collide” I needed to break my mind off from writing that, and I decided to work on this. It sparked an idea while I was listening to my mix on YouTube. It's nothing unique, really.
> 
> Based on the song “See You In My Dreams” by We The Kings.

Being back in the Enchanted Forest was never part of his intention, but because Pan managed to cast the spell over Storybrooke, he’s been stuck among all the rest in the magical world once again. It’s been a couple of months or so, not that he’s keeping track, but it’s worth knowing considering every day passes by slower than the usual. Every day passes by with a glimpse of hope in the morning, and a drop of dread in the evening.

Thinking his life could be better, better on the Jolly Roger, captaining her once again, captaining _his_ ship again is a misunderstanding. Yes, he loves his ship, yes he’s very fond of his crew, but he feels that there’s something, someone missing in his life. He’d rather not admit what it is, he’d rather not go digging for it in the soil and get his hands into dirty into problem he doesn’t want to deal with, because he _knows_ what’s missing. He doesn’t want it to be truth, because he’s living it each and every day, and it’s only a simple reminder in his life about how he couldn’t do a single thing to help.

Emma Swan is the thing, the person, the _woman_ missing in his life to make him feel whole. Perhaps he’s a softer man now, but it’s because he’s finally realizing how much he desires a life with her, how much he’d give up just to be with her. From the day she found him under a pile of corpses, to the day they shared their first hungry kiss on the grounds of the infinite Neverland, there’s just that part of him that wants her to be here with him.

But, whenever he thinks about it, he remembers saying _goodbye_. Watching her drive away in that yellow vessel of hers with her boy, Henry is still a vivid memory to this day. Not to mention that’s the image he sees every night before he goes to bed.

And it frustrates him to the ends of the world, because no matter how many times he attempts to forget this woman, to forget the entire thing he’s put himself through, it’s practically an _impossible_ situation. He’s never thought about being capable to love another woman, but going through with all the adventures they’ve shared in their past, it’s inevitable for him to avoid this. Every night when he finds himself unable to sleep, he climbs above deck, feeling the gentle rocking of the Jolly, and the shining stars in the sky. Sometimes, the stars make him feel a little bit better, sometimes it can lead him back to her. Give him the hope he needs to seeing her again one day.

One day.

As he finds himself back below deck in his quarters, slipping into his bedsheets, wrapping himself up while staring at the plain nothingness, he feels confused. Not the bad type of confused, but one of those odd types where he can’t shake it off.

No matter how many times he closes his eyes, _trying_ to fall asleep soundly, it doesn’t work out as it plans. He tries to think of other things, like the possible journeys he could now embark on now that he’s gotten the Jolly Roger back, but there’s a tug in the back of his heart that tells him he wants to do it with her. Many years of loneliness bring back many emotions that leave him tensing up in his own bed. And these emotions lead to him dreaming about things that give him the hope to keep pushing through each day.

As far as it concerns him, every night is the same. Every sleep has the same ideal, every sleep has the same person standing there, and every sleep becomes one he eventually starts to look forward to. 

Every dream is of Emma, of him seeing her being with him, with her entire family. Of him not being lonely anymore, of her accepting him, and of the both of them finally loving each other. It’s funny, really, it’s childish, maybe, and it’s dumb because it’s like a teenager unable to confess one's thoughts to the person they love. Honestly, it’s a constant reminder because he has no one to talk to when he needs to vent

Every night when he retires to his bed, he finds himself asleep with a dream of them meeting by the docks of Storybrooke. It’s _their_ meeting place. It’s the quiet moments he wants to relish there, it’s the wonderful days they find themselves in, spending time together while going after the next big crisis in town. And, for some reason, these simple dreams help him move away from the brink of giving up. These simple dreams give him _hope_.

Something better to believe in, the strength to believe in something magical. They do live in a magical world, right? Anything could happen.

And when the dream ends, he wakes up in the usual cold sweat, but with a smile on his face. It’s rare of him to ever do that, but for some reasons having her in his dreams is rather comforting to an extent. Yes, it by no means can be compared to the real thing, but living through it in his dreams is helping him handle everything he feels.

He looks forward to sleeping a lot of the time, no matter how energetic he may be, and no matter if he’s stumbled in with his drunken stupor either. He just wants to see her in his dreams each night. A constant reminder, a _promise_ to keep thinking about her every day. That there won’t be a day that’ll go by where he won’t think of her. And as a man of honour, he’s definitely keeping his promise. Each morning, afternoon, evening and night. Each second of the day can’t even be let out of that promise.

So, it’s safe to say that the night steals him away a lot of the time, sometimes having to be waken up by Smee.

During one of his dreams, the dream he wants to float into and live as reality, he finds himself hearing some soft words of reassurance. Words that leave him wondering, words that make him pick up all the fragments and somehow piece them back together. 

_Don’t give up. I’ll never let you go._

Perhaps it’s his mind playing games, because there’s no way he could ever hear some stupid words through a dream that would make him feel so hopeful, but there’s something in his mind nagging him to not give up just yet. Something telling him, _forcing_ him to keep fighting, because a better life will come toward him eventually.

And as the day ends off with a large wave of smoke slowly encompassing the Enchanted Forest once again, it leaves him with no other choice but to ditch his rubbish crew and sail the Jolly Roger as far as possible to get out of the curses purview. It’s a risky move, but he’s willing to take a shot in the dark, he’s willing to do whatever it takes to not be engulfed by a curse that could very well affect him negatively.

The night of his successful escape from the curse, he feels like this is his calling. That this is his second chance to be the man he could- _can_ be.

He learns that the only reason he could do something like that, that he could have the urge to captain his lovely ship through the waters to escape this curse is only because of one thing being triggered by the next. Those dreams give him hope, and that hope gives him the drive to be back with her again.


	22. i can read you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian has a superpower. He can read peoples minds.

For Killian jones, being able to read minds is stupid, yet incredible. In so many ways, you can see into other peoples minds, understand them, read them, believe them. But there are times where it doesn’t come in handy either. It’s rather disturbing to be able to read someones mind, because personal thoughts and private space are no longer existent in his world. And thank the gods he learned the extent of his powers when he got older. If you were to ask seven year old Killian Jones, he would have freaked out about how crazy and awesome it would be. Now, he sits at thirty years old, a man in a fresh, yet stable relationship with the fussy Emma Swan.  


But to the heavens and back, Emma Swan is everything he’ll ever need. Her attitude and her complimenting beauty is nothing he’ll ever be able to compare with any other woman in the world. And sometimes he wonders how he’s traversed this awfully difficult path to get her to date him. Maybe it’s the fact he can read her mind, but maybe it’s also the fact of how  _similar_ their pasts are. They can relate and understand each other in those ‘kindred spirits’ kind of way. And he may only be a man who wants love, but he wonders above and beyond these ideas as well. He wonders of all the things he wants to offer her, he wants to question everything for a second time instead of having a one-time answer, he wants to do things out of his comfort zone, and he wants to please Emma to cloud nine and back. He’s willing to do anything for this woman, because no matter the short time they’ve been dating, he understands her way too well, and he just wants to love her for all she is.  


And to be able to read _his_  Swan just as an open book even while preventing himself to read her mind, everything is clarity in front of him. Crystal clear. She struggles from a painful memories that tend to come back and haunt her at night until they linger into the chipper mornings. She finds it hard to trust new people, including Killian himself. She finds it difficult for herself to let down those strongly built walls to let people in. Speaking of that, those walls are familiar to him, because after learning of his brother’s death, he nearly succumbed well under the darkness by fucking his way through every girl possible, and drowning himself in the grief of the bloody heavy taste of rum on his tongue.  


But with Emma,  _gods_ , she makes him do things, she makes him emotional, she makes him lose his control over everything in the world. And he grants everything per her request. If she wants food, he gives him food. If she wants time alone, he gives her time alone. Really, it’s like a dog following his admirable owner everywhere, and he will do nothing in the world to stop his relationship. She’s made him stop falling into the devouring darkness, she’s made him wonder how he can love so strongly, she’s made him change. It’s time for him to repay the favour.  


Following her into a quaint, small town called Storybrooke, Maine, he rents himself a small apartment while she lives with her childhood friend, Mary Margaret. They’re not exactly at the point where one’s comfortable with moving in with the other, which he’s totally fine with. It’s what she wants, and he respects her choices, he praises her for being upfront, he admires her confidence. As for reality, time gets in between them, lives get in between them, and they don’t end up spending too much time together. Does it bother him? Yeah, it really does, but he doesn’t complain. He’s proud of her for getting a Sheriff job for this small town, he’s proud of her for finally taking that step out, and he’s proud of her for just being  _herself._  


But, the downside to their relationship is the fact he’s not the most honest one. He hasn’t said a word to her about his ability to read minds. He hasn’t even approached her with the intention of speaking those words, because honestly, he’s  _pathetically_  afraid of her denial. His truest, deepest fear is to lose her, because as much as Liam’s death affected him, he’s not sure how well he will fare if he loses Emma to some stupid thing he’s been keeping a secret.  


“ _Use your power for the good, little brother_ ,” Liam used to say to him, to remind him to use it for the better good.  


Ever since Emma Swan walked into that little bar, ever since he read her mind which had the exact intention he was having back then- drinking away his troubles- their eyes had locked and there was immediate tension. There was an immediate connection of the sorts, because he could read her so easily, he could see the pain in her eyes, he could see the abandonment, he could simply see conflict. It wasn’t like anything, or anyone he had seen before. “ _You’re somewhat of an open book, darling_ ,” he had said to her that night, swirling his glass of rum in a seat beside her. “ _You’ve experienced something out of your grasp, one that seems to trouble you might I add,_ ” he told her, pressing the glass of rum to his lips, “ _and if I weren’t here drinking away my very own troubles, I would very much like to know you a bit more, lass._ ”  


It was a very rough start, they even argued that night during their drunken stupor, and the next morning he had barely remembered everything as most of it went by as a haze. All he knew was that she had helped him get home, her name was Emma, and she had slightly curled blonde hair with mesmerizing green eyes of the emerald colour. It wasn’t until a couple of days later where he had accidentally ran into her at the bar again, only this time, they were both sober enough to keep a better conversation up. Though, ultimately it had been the hardest things ever to try and get her to spill some information to him, all he felt was the pulling of his heart for this woman.  


Funny thing was, they exchanged numbers only though they had texted back and forth casually a couple of times. He can still remember the first time she had texted him.  _She_ started it.  


_Hey, Jones. How you been doing? I haven’t seen you around the bar recently._  


******_My, I didn’t think you’d ever text me, love._**  


_You didn’t answer the question._  


******_Apologies. I’m fine I believe. That is if you consider laying in bed with an awful cough fine._**  


_You’re sick? The Jones I know doesn’t get sick._  


******_Well, then I suppose your theory has been obliterated from my sudden illness. It’s bad form to make light of a man’s misfortune, Swan._**  


_Yeah, well whatever. Get better soon, Killian. Would you like me to bring y_ _ou some alphabet soup? Will it make you any better?_  


******_I am not a child, so thanks but no thanks._**  


_Suit yourself, mate._  


******_I knew there was a little English in you, love._**  


_In your dreams._  


******_Ah, well would it surprise you if it were like that?_**  


_Get better soon idiot._  


******_Thank you for your lovely words. Talk soon?_**  


_Absolutely._  


They were like two big babies, but could you blame them back then? It was a flourishing relationship, being built from ashes of destruction and loss. Now, they’re a growing relationship, the building blocks now being set in place. You could have told the old Killian Jones how he’d be crazy for going after a bail bondsperson who would never be the one for him, but look at him now. Proud and happy in a small town with the one person he truly cares for.  


To make up for the lack of time they’ve been spending together, he brainstorms some ideas while he sits individually in Granny’s Diner, drinking a cup of coffee. No matter how small the town is, the diner is quite cozy and a good place to hang out no matter the mood. He still remembers, very clearly, the first time he had the guts to ask her out on a date. Killian never stumbles on his words with a lady, but that night, he had completely humiliated himself in front of her. It took a lot of convincing, but she had finally agreed. Let’s just say she was pretty much mindblown. Now just what exactly will he do this time, now that they’re in a peaceful small town?  


Plenty of ideas on his mind, but to keep the cliché out of it, he singles down to one idea. So, he spends the next day planning everything, getting everything properly in place. Once everything’s perfect enough to his standards, surely to exceed Emma’s, he drops by the station, only to notice that it’s quite empty, only Emma sitting at the desk, flipping through some sheets. He’s rather confused about why she’s alone, and there’s a  _look_  in her eyes, one of those analyzing ones.  


He knocks on the frame of the wall which leads to her small office. “Hello, love,” he greets with a smile.  


She looks up from whatever she’s reading, and she looks somewhat shocked of his presence. “Killian, hey. What’re you doing here?”  


“Paying a visit,” he vaguely states.  


Emma’s eyes narrow at him, she’s always been good at detecting when something’s off. “No way, there’s more to it than that.”  


“Quite perceptive, aren’t you?” He chuckles. “Well, yes, there’s more to the reason of why I’m here,” he says calmly, sticking his hands in his jeans pockets.  


She raises her eyebrow, a frown appearing on her face. “It’s nothing bad, is it?” She sighs. “I know I haven’t been spending a lot of time with you, but this small town has a lot more work to it than I thought.”  


Killian smiles and lets out a soft laugh. “No, love, quite the contrary actually. In essence, I’ve planned a little night out for us. Not much of a date, just a night for us, for you to let loose from your authoritative duties,” he explains. “I was hoping you’d be free tonight.”  


“Uh, yeah! David said he was going to drop by and take the night shift, so I’m all free after eight.” She’s not lying. He’s reading her mind again because it’s an inevitable power.  


“Fantastic.” He grins, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. “See you tonight.”  


And so the rest of the day goes by as normal. He picks her up, and Mary Margaret rushes in with a load of questions about where they’re going, and Killian can’t stop the laughter welling up inside of him. Emma is practically eyeing her,  _scolding_  her friend for being such a gossip girl on her love life. Before she loses her mind, Killian insists it’s time to go, and Mary Margaret gives him the this-is-not-over look. He flashes a mischievous smile at Mary Margaret before leaving the loft of their little cozy home, leaving hand in hand with Emma.  


The walk is quiet, but they enjoy the night sky, and the gentle breeze that blows by them. And once again, he can read her mind when he looks over at her. Her mind is a jumble of messy thoughts, and he frowns in disappointment. He squeezes her hand gently, giving her a reassuring smile, before she returns the smile and kisses his cheek. They haven’t really… kissed each other that much, only once on the first date, and that’s a unforgettable good night kiss. They’ve been taking it quite slow, hence the reasons of not exactly moving in with each other, or doing that much out of their own element. Honestly, the kisses on the forehead and cheek is perfectly fine with him. She wants to take it slow, and he respects her wishes. He wants everything to go smoothly. (Even if his own desires are greater than hers.)  


_I wonder what Killian’s intentions are._  


_Oh crap, I forgot to tell David about the paperwork he needs to sign._  


_Mary Margaret is going to kill me when I get back. Damn, Ruby is going to question me too._  


_This sort of feels nice._  


Every single word is there in his mind too, able to see everything in her like a blinding light that flashes and reflects off a mirror. This woman is a bloody marvel, no matter how many times he can read her, think of her, and love her, he never tires of her.  


Killian leads her toward the docks, slowly guiding her onto one of the wonderful ships he had been granted permission to use. He pulls on her hand playfully, standing at the edge of the ship. He smiles at her, jerking his head up to tell her to look up. And as of instant, she does, and he follows shortly after, seeing the bright stars shining in the darkened night sky. Though the small breeze nips at the edge of his ears, he’s perfectly happy, as if time is standing still. He lets go of her hand and slings his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in.  


“I know you’d like to take it slow, I respect that, love. But, I personally hated not seeing you for a couple days straight. I hated seeing you so focused on work, as if you were floating in the middle of space.” His hands grow cold the more he has to say. “And I wanted for the night to just be for us. To gaze upon these wonderful natural phenomenons we have been gifted with. Each night I take a trip down here and look up, but do you know what these stars under the moonlight tell me, Emma?”  


She hesitates on her answer, he can see everything in her mind, hear it, understand it. “No, not really,” she breathes out as an answer, turning her head to look at him. “What do these stars tell you, Killian?”  


He smiles, and looks back up at the stars. “No matter where I am, they always lead me somewhere. I’ve navigated the stars for years when I was younger, I knew what they meant- they would always guide me back to my  _home_ ,” he explains honestly, taking a breath in. “And I believe, they always guide me back to  _you_.” By the end of his explanation, he shifts his body until she’s looking at him.  


The glimmering at the edge of her eye catches him off guard. The Emma Swan he usually sees is a tough lass, never letting much of her emotions show through. The only time she’s ever gotten close to crying was when she explained her tragic backstory. Her abandoned birth, her gruesome experiences in the foster system, her running as a petty little lost girl as a thief on the streets of New York, her broken heart from a man named Neal, her sudden confliction of emotions after Walsh’s surprising proposal.  


_Why does he treat me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters? Why is this man so sweet to me? It’s ridiculous. I don’t deserve him, he deserves so much more than a broken girl._  


_I’ve lost everyone, I really can’t lose him too though. He’s given me hope, he’s made me feel things I’ve never felt before. I gave him a chance, he took it, he’s made the best out of it, and I should be thankful for having him. He’s not Neal. He’s not Walsh either. Just let him in. He moved to this damn town with me! He could have left, but he didn’t. Trust him. He’s different. He cares. He understands._  


“Try something new, darling, it’s called trust,” he whispers, wiping the one tear that drops from her eye. “I promise, under these stars, that I am not someone who will break you heart. You know I hate breaking promises, love- it’s rather bad form.”  


_Holy fucking shit this guy and his words. How can I resist him? Out of all the things I see in his eyes, it’s pure love. This isn’t supposed to be an agonizing decision. And his lips. His perfect lips. I’ve refused them from mine for so long. I’ve been afraid of breaking apart again, what does he see in me?_  


“My heart’s broken, Killian,” she mumbles, her voice wavering slightly at the words.  


“If it can be broken, that means it still works,” he responds. “Do not think of yourself as someone undeserving of love, darling. Everyone deserves a little love, whether it be from friends, or family. Whether it be from a complete stranger, or a coworker. Don’t be afraid to fall anymore. Don’t be doubtful of who you  _can_  be, or who you  _are_. Don’t let your previous experiences dictate your future, love. Don’t let it hold you back, because if there’s anyone out there who knows you better than you know yourself, it’s me.”  


“I know… I know how dumb I can be sometimes, but can you blame my uncertainty at all? Everything has always gone wrong with me, Killian. I just don’t want to risk it between us either, because this seems all too perfect to be true,” she finally says. “I don’t want to lose you.”  


He feels his face soften at her words. “And I assure you that you won’t lose me. Not unless you tell me to walk out of your life.” He takes a second to think of something else to say. “Actually, I’d probably fight for you still even if you banish me from your life,” he adds on.  


After a second goes by, which feels like a _really_  slow minute, he dips his head down and brushes his lips over hers, and at the contact, it sends unknown shivers down his spine. It’s nothing like how he remembers their one good night kiss. This time, it’s more than that, it’s more full of emotions than anything else. It’s full of unspoken words, though their voices are loud and clear now. His hand cradles the side of her head, strands of her hair slipping between his fingers, the silky texture smooth against his fingertips. It doesn’t take long for her to respond, and at first he expects her to push him away, but she doesn’t. Once they both pull back, he takes a moment to savour the feeling before he opens his eyes, a smile dancing on both of their lips.  


“I love you, and I don’t expect you to say it back, but I want you to know.” Their foreheads bump together, and their noses brush against each other. “I haven’t said this, because I’ve been afraid of letting you down for keeping this away, but, I have a superpower, Swan. And don’t be frightened when you hear of what ridiculous nonsense you think I’m spewing out of my mouth. I can read people’s minds. Every single thing you’re thinking, I know.”  


She laughs softly. “That explains a lot of how you know exactly what to say at every precise moment. And just so you know, I have a superpower too. I can detect liars.”  


“So you believe me?”  


“I have my superpower, you have yours. Did you really think you were the only one that has been gifted with such an odd ability?”  


“No,” he mumbles, “however I didn’t know that it was a superpower of yours. I thought it was just your intuition as a law enforcer.”  


“Well-”  


He lunges forward at her, pressing another kiss to her lips, because at that moment, she _wanted_  to kiss again him again. Oh, this would be both satisfying and pure torture.  


She gasps for air. “What was that for?”  


“I can read you, Swan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys want to send prompts, I'd suggest tumblr. [Click here, boo yah.](http://thejollypirate.tumblr.com/)


	23. not worth it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian’s given the perfect chance to enact his revenge against Gold now that the Queens of Darkness and him have been defeated. But, with Emma as the light in his life, he starts to doubt himself more than he probably should.

It’s been quite awhile for Killian since his change from the dark to the light. But through all that, there are still the tempting calls of him to get his revenge against the Crocodile. No matter how much Emma is there to guide him, he can still hear the cries of pain and revenge inside of him. And it hurts a whole lot more than it should, but given that he spent three centuries practically dying to get his hook and hand onto this rotten old monster, can you blame him that darkness that lingers around in his soul? Supposedly, you can still blame him in many ways, but Emma Swan has been his light since the beginning, and he’s been trying to change his ways.   
  


For her, and for himself.  
  


And one night, the frosty chill blowing through the dampness of the town, the Dark One practically defeated and hiding out, Killian goes to search for him. Little does he know he’ll actually locate him by the town docks, limp and weak and  _defeated_  once and for all.  
  


So, he trudges down the sidewalk until he sees the figure standing there in the mere darkness, his suit thrown off, standing there idly as he stares out into the open sea encircling the small, quaint town of Storybrooke. The urge of revenge wells up inside of Killian the more he approaches him, and before he knows it, he’s pacing faster and faster until he stands a relatively close distance to the Crocodile. The man doesn’t turn around to face him, even if he is aware of the pirate’s presence.  
  


First, it starts off with a hollow, bitter taste of possible victory in his bones. To finally claim what he’s been so desperately chasing after for 300 bloody hell-bent years of dissatisfaction and loneliness. However, next comes the growing good side of him, telling him to not do what he’s being told from his dark side.  
  


(“So, you can join us and be a part of something, or you can do what you can do best, and be alone.”)  
  


(And when he escapes out with the Jolly Roger, the second he sets foot upon that ship and starts to sail away from Storybrooke, he feels as if he is making a grave mistake. And though he doesn’t want to admit it, he knows very well about why he’s turning this ship back.)  
  


(“I thought you didn’t care about anyone but yourself,” she says quite bitterly, questioning his motives. “Maybe I just needed reminding that I could,” he responds honestly, holding the bean out for her to talk out of his hand.)  
  


If he had to make that choice over again, a hundred times, a thousand, he would make the same decision. Turn back and help them, regardless of the situation he’s put in. If he hadn’t returned back to help Emma and the others, he would not be standing here in Storybrooke, with a… somewhat quiet life now. The Dark One has threatened enough, the Queens of Darkness are defeated, and all that remains is to kill Rumplestiltskin- which Killian will gladly do.  
  


But no matter how hard he tries to take that step forward, to jab him with the damn hook that still remains a part of him, he  _can’t_ \- he just can’t. He’s struggling to fight the conflicting emotions inside of him.  _Kill the bloody bastard for putting me through seven hells for three hundred years_ , one says;  _don’t do it, look at how far you’ve come and changed_ , the other one remarks. Killian squeezes his eyes shut quite forcefully, clenching his jaw and swallowing, hoping it’s enough to have him make a final decision. Alas, he’s unable to fall forward and cast his revenge.  
  


_Emma’s home and safe_ , he reminds himself,  _I can end this right now and he’ll never be able to hurt them again_. But that’s not much of a valid reason to murder the wretched being in front of him, because in the end, it’s still going to be for a selfish reason.  _Pirate_ , he regards himself, his hand clenching into a fist, the pain becoming more abundant the more he tightens his hand. He huffs out a quiet breath, the air turning into a frosty white before fading away.  
  


Glancing down at his hook, it can narrate such an elaborate story by now. _He made me like this, broke me down into a man no less than a villain_ , he protests in his mind,  _he’s ruined far too many innocent lives to still remain alive in this realm, or any realm_. The charging war going on in his head starts to become a lot more detailed than expected, as he stands as the cold breeze nips at his skin, his ears turning frozen and red, his cheeks flushing red complementing along. And this choice, as before, should be as easy as ever, to just turn and walk away, have the man suffer in his own pain and sorrow. But something’s keeping him to wait idly, to see if he’ll ever turn to taunt Killian.  _The Crocodile’s been standing vulnerably for a good ten minutes now_ , he reckons, lifting his gaze up to him.  
  


“So,  _Captain_ , I’ve been waiting for you to make a move, but you’ve been quite silent back there,” Gold says, turning around. He’s quite battered and bruised, that’s for sure. “What’s exactly keeping you from making me absolutely perish off this world?”  
  


Killian gulps, his mouth partially open as he then purses his lips together to form his response. He sighs, shaking his head. “Many things contribute,  _Crocodile_ ,” Killian spits out, “not that I don’t want to jab you right now, that you should very well know I would love to have that privilege,” he confesses, pointing the hook at his face. They keep their distance intact though. No advancing.  
  


“That’s it, dearie? Giving up on centuries of your dedicated hard work?” Gold mocks, wincing at whatever injury he feels pain from. “You’ve gone soft, pirate.”  
  


“Perhaps you can say I’ve  _changed_  unlike you,” Killian retorts, moving his hand and hook about seamlessly. “Though I wouldn’t consider myself a hero to any extent of course.” He narrows his eyes at the man across from him. “If I were to kill you, it’d be difficult to get away with anyways. Let’s say I’m saving myself the trouble.”  
  


“Oooh, that’s not the only reason holding you back though, is it now?”  
  


It’s quite obvious how he’s taunting him, making him admit his feelings and his contradictory beliefs inside of him. Plus given the publicity of how much he and Emma is together now, it shouldn’t really surprise anyone how Killian will always choose her and her family over any other woman or doubt that crosses him and his mind.  
  


Killian chuckles, shaking his head. “No, I don’t suppose those are the only reasons,” he says quietly, the cold breeze bringing his words alive. “And I also don’t suppose you’ll ever understand these words that I’m close to saying.”  
  


Gold squints his eyes, taking two steps forward. “And what’s that, dearie? Why don’t you kill me, get that revenge you’ve been wanting for dreadful years?”  
  


“I love  _her_  more than I hate  _you_ ,” he enunciates each word quite clearly, with a little bit of force. “No matter how hard you play a game against me, a  _pirate_  knows how to win in the end.” For the slightest moment, he can see the shock and pain flash across the old man’s face, but it’s quickly replaced by anger. “You may have ruined my life, made me suffer for centuries, but for that I am forever grateful I have found the one who’s made me reevaluate who I am, and who I  _can_  be. So, thank you very much, Crocodile, for leading me straight to the woman who’s captured my heart. Oh, and just so you know, Belle is faring quite well without you now.”  
  


“ _Killian_!”  
  


Familiarity spikes through him as he turns to see Emma running toward him with David and Henry.  _Fantastic timing_ , he mutters in his own brain, his lips curving up into a smile at the sight he sees approaching him.  
  


Emma pants, glancing between the two men standing in front of her. “You- I thought you’d gone missing for some reason. Why are you here?”  
  


Killian turns back to Gold who’s standing there who seems oblivious and deadly afraid of his punishment now that he’s… sort of caught thanks to Killian. “Had a bit of small matters to discuss with the Dark One, love. No worries,” he assures them.  
  


“You didn’t attack him, did you?” David asks, his hand reaching for his gun.

  
“No.” His voice is stern and serious, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t.” He shrugs, but says, “However, I’ll be honest with everyone. I wanted to very much take my long awaited revenge against the man who had set me through pain,” he explains, “but, if he hadn’t-”

 

“You would have never met me,” Emma finishes off his sentence. “If you were never on that path of revenge, you being full of hatred for him, you’d have never ended up working with Cora. You would have never got to know me as we climbed a beanstalk. You would have never assisted me and everyone else get Henry back. You would have never had me at all if you hadn’t gotten involved in this entire monstrosity of a neverending crisis.”  
  


He grins, giving her a curt nod. “You know me well, darling.”  
  


“Yeah... Well Dad, mind getting Gold locked up? Killian, Henry, let’s head back to Granny’s for a bit.”  
  


“Actually, I think I’m going to go talk to my other mom. She said she wanted to speak to me after we’d find Killian,” Henry explains, running to hug Emma. “I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”  
  


“Okay then, love you too, and yeah, tomorrow morning,” she responds, though Killian can see right through that she’s highly doubting that Henry’s telling the truth.  
  


He finds himself wondering if the lad is just trying to give them some time alone. It’s not the first time.  
  


While they walk, he lets his hand brush against hers until he interlaces their fingers together, smiling at her when she glances over at him with a curious look. Back at Granny’s, well technically back at Killian’s room  _in_  Granny’s, they’re laying on the bed, both of them quite silent without a word to utter. Well, he figures he’s not the one who has anything to really say, but there’s something Emma wants to say, but just doesn’t seem like she knows how to say it.  
  


“Out with it, Swan, you’re worrying me,” he finally says, breaking the silence between them.  
  


“It’s nothing really. I mean, I was the one worrying when I checked Granny’s to find you not there. I thought you’d be in your room, but you weren’t, and then I started wondering about what could happen. I told David, he said we’ll find you, and the first place I thought of was the docks. When I saw you, just standing there, talking to Gold, I thought you were going to do something stupid, like anger him, because for once, I’d like to  _not_  lose you to some villain’s hands. The thought of it was scary, Killian. He once had your heart, he once killed your previous lover, I didn’t know whether or not you and him were going to have some sort of… I don’t know… skirmish?  
  


“But then I knew that you weren’t going to kill him. I had faith, I trusted that you knew what you were doing. And as you know, I’m a walking lie-detector, so thank you for telling the truth back there. But the thing is, I’m wondering what you two were talking about. So, mind telling me what happened between the both of you back there?”  
  


He sighs, licking his lips. “Would be my pleasure to enlighten your needs, love.” Killian sucks in a breath. “I didn’t know what I was doing there besides the fact I had known I wanted to murder him in cold blood. Nevertheless, it’s evident that I’d had my own doubts about the entire thing. Did I want him dead? Aye. Could I do it though? No, I could not. I’ll spare you the little details, but he had asked why I couldn’t do it, why I didn’t act and kill him then and there.  
  


“And, if there’s one thing I  _want_  you to know from this little conversation I had with Gold, it’s something quite simple really, and I think it’ll be enough to put this explanation to an end. To be precise… I love  _you_  more than I hate  _him_. I wouldn’t want to risk anything I had, and  _have_ with you, just because of some selfish desire to kill the man who set me up on a difficult path. A path which led me to you.”  
  


By the time he’s done his speech, his mouth grows dry, but he looks over at Emma, and the endearment in her eyes, the possible vulnerability which he becomes a part of makes him smile. He presses his lips to her temple, lingering there for a couple of moments. “So, am I lying, love?” he teases as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ears.  
  


“No, you’re not,” she whispers her response, wrapping her arms around his torso. “You gave up your ship for me. Now you’ve given up your revenge too. Man, I’m going to need a lot of time to just take everything in,” she mutters, pressing her face to his shoulder. “Thank you for being  _you_.”  
  


“I’m telling you,  _Emma_ , my revenge and ship was never worth it. But, you,  _you’re_  worth it, and always will be, darling.”


	24. damned curse again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes there are curses that are just meant to not be broken… Such as those that make shirts vanish off a man’s torso.

 

It’s one of those (weirdly) casual days in Storybrooke, which is still a difficult concept to grasp. In fact, she’s getting one of those days to spend some  _alone_  time with Killian. Of course, this implies mocking, teasing, outrageous, yet blunt flirting, and dealing with 99% of his innuendos.  
  


Secretly, she likes it.  
  


But they are enjoying their time by the docks, watching the tides and ripples. The cold air nips at her skin, as she hugs herself, tugging her signature leather jacket more and more before it’s literally impossible to do so any further. Of course, perceptive as he is, decides to wrap his arm around her waist, pulling her into his warmth. It’s satisfying of course,  _really_  satisfying.  _How does he keep warm like this?_  she wonders, her head tilting to the side to rest on his shoulder.  
  


Gold has yet to return, which is still something she’s highly anticipating. There’s no way being banished from Storybrooke because of the dagger and a horribly, let-down Belle will keep him away from returning ever again. It’s merely an impossible situation here. He can find loopholes, Emma is sure Gold is going to have some extravagant entrance at some point, or at least make it known that he’s returned to ruin everyone’s lives once again. And being the Saviour she is, she will need to defeat him, the good old magic vs. magic sort of thing.  
  


But this moment isn’t meant for over thinking, no matter what. Right now, it’s enjoying the view with Killian by her side, because for once, after all this damn chaos, she just wants to be with the man who’s… her boyfriend. _I can’t stand saying that word_ , she muses, letting her eyes slide closed.  
  


Of course he notices something off about her behaviour. “Swan, you seem to be floating in space today. Is there anything wrong?” he asks. And damn him for that voice which holds concern, and his strong, blue eyes which always make her fall weak on her knees, even when she acts the most subtle in being a strong, independent woman.  
  


Shaking her head, she answers, “Nothing important. It’s just that… there’s something bound to happen soon. I can feel it in my bones, Killian. It sounds more like a huff of breath instead of an explanation. “I’m like a walking calamity, I attract all evil because of who I am,” she mutters, reliving every single moment of something horrible happening.  
  


Losing Henry.  
  


Giving trust away so easily.  
  


Losing Graham.  
  


Not noticing Killian’s missing heart earlier.  
  


Nearly becoming a bound sister to Ingrid who was apparently her foster mother.  
  


Like seriously, her role as the Saviour is the most demanding job ever. And she’s the Sheriff too. Saviour-Sheriff.  
  


“Well, love, don’t worry about that. Remember I told you to live your life during the crisis otherwise you might miss it,” he begins. Bringing his hook up he points it forward. “You attracted a ruthless one-handed pirate, who desperately fell head over heels for a strong-willed woman with cunning wits,” Killian continues, his fingers rubbing her waist gently. “I’d say that’s an accomplishment. Worry about it when it does occur.”  
  


“And so is breaking curses and saving lives,” she whispers, the wind blowing her words away in a swift manner. “But you’re right. I do need to live my life, even if it’s not going to be much of a normal one anymore. This  _is_  my life.”  
  


He smiles like the loving dork he is, pressing a kiss to the side of her head before she trains her eyes back forward, staring out at the deep blue sea which reflects many images. A lot of memories of Neverland return, the cries of Lost Boys, the waters while on the Jolly Roger. That’s right. A ship he no longer owns because he had given it up to come save  _her_ , to come save the entire town from another doomsday.  
  


For a moment, she thinks something is different. Killian removes his arm from her, and when she tears her gaze away from the sea to him, he’s not wearing a shirt. As confused as possible, Killian cocks his head to the side, his eyes narrowing at her, his forehead creasing.  
  


“What the hell?” he questions. “Swan, this isn’t very funny. It’s freezing like this!” he exclaims, wrapping his arms around himself.  
  


Emma’s mouth is open, her eyes scrunched up as she examines the exact view in front of her. Shirtless Killian Jones is something she can get used to. But, being as it is, he’s glaring at her like a death stare of the sorts, and she’s just as confused as he is. “I didn’t do anything,” she claims honestly, shaking her head, getting out of her sudden reverie. His head ducks backward, probably in disbelief. “Hey, I’m serious! I did not use my magic or whatever to make you shirtless.”  
  


“Yes, because that would explain the sudden disappearance of my clothes,” he says bitterly. “If you didn’t do it, then who d-”  
  


“Something’s wrong!”  
  


Everyone knows this voice.  
  


“Leroy,” she mutters.  
  


He says, “Bloody dwarf.”  
  


And of course, as everyone starts to question what’s going on, Emma’s stuck with having shirtless men surround her. Let’s just say shirtless Leroy is  _not_  a view that’s going to be rid from her head for the next couple of weeks. Or her entire life. Groaning at the thought, everyone gathers at Granny’s.  
  


Way too many shirtless dudes around now. Even her father, Prince Charming, is shirtless and standing there with Mary Margaret with very confused faces of what’s going on.  
  


“Why is every man out of shirts, but not the women?”  
  


“How would I know?” Emma complains, rolling her eyes. “Look, we’re gonna have to investigate this… weird occurrence. Meanwhile, you either remain shirtless, or go find another shirt to wear for the meantime.”  
  


“Is it a curse?” someone shouts.  
  


“Why am I not surprised?” Killian mutters from behind her.  
  


Instinctively, she turns around and slaps his bare chest. Oddly, she sort of likes physically abusing him like that.  
  


He feigns pain, faking a whimper. “What was that for?” he questions.  
  


“Not the time to be retorting remarks of being unamused, pirate,” she responds. “Funny for you because you don’t exactly have another attire, do you? You still pay in  _doubloons_ ,” Emma teases, nudging his shoulder. “Unless my dad is willing to hand over some clothes to you- which I doubt- you’ll be stuck without a shirt, and I find it really hilarious.”  
  


“This isn’t much of a laughing matter, love. But, if you like the fact of me being bare,” he starts, flicking her hair away with his hook, “all you had to do was ask,” he whispers.  
  


David coughs, bringing them back to their attention. Killian flashes a devilish smirk before she rolls her eyes and turns around, facing the now-smaller crowd. Once she explains the plan, which is ‘go home and just try to ignore it,’ she lets out a huff of disappointment. Although this curse, or whatever in the world it is, is going on, she hates it already in a way. For one, they don’t know what it even passes as, and for two, they don’t know who’s casted it.  
  


After a couple of straight hours of investigating, it starts to become a pain in the ass. In fact, Killian starts to really get bothered, and that leads to him questioning her about  _everything_ , or literally making several jokes. Honestly, she’s enjoying this- not only the view, of course- hilarity of him being so front and forward. But then, she needs to survive his neverending string of innuendos and other flirtatious comments which puts her on edge. There is a shirtless pirate sitting in a chair in front of her. Muscles toned, that chest hair that is pretty much on display 24/7 and scars all over, she sighs and shakes her head.  
  


In response, he obviously smirks with a raised eyebrow, jerking his head to the side, provoking her with everything he can. It’s slowly working, but she  _refuses_  to let it affect her now. Not when she’s trying to do some research on possible curses or spells, or whatever the hell magic caused this entire weird situation to erupt out of nowhere. Who would want to cast something this dumb? Well, someone wanted to, unless it was a total accident, which sounds like something to be quite skeptical about.  
  


There’s no word of Gold returning, or anything about someone entering from outside of town. It’s not until a couple of minutes later, she starts giving up, shaking her head. It’s out of the usual.  
  


****_/-/-/-/-/-/_  
  


He’s slowly dying of laughter and anticipation of the outcome of this possible magical curse. It’s hardly considered a curse. Losing his shirt, along with the other men of the town, is hardly considered a consequence of any magical spell.  
  


Given he’s almost 400 years of age, he’s gained quite a bit of experience with magic. Even if he’s the man the be the most unimpressed by it at this point. The only time he really encourages magic is between Emma, and sometimes Regina. He’s pretty much done with it. He’s lost his hand, gotten is back, flew through portals, manned the Jolly Roger through the sky from Neverland, and so much more. He really isn’t surprised about anything new and magical showing up.  
  


While he sits there, teasing Emma with every possible chance, he starts seeing the light flush of her cheeks creep up. It’s either she’s the one getting hot,  _or_ , she’s beginning to get flustered with all of his jokes. He likes to think it’s the latter option. And so, more of his teasing ensues, which results in a hit to the head and her throwing a pencil at him, which he swiftly dodges of course.  
  


“Are you going to continue to bother me like this?”  
  


He laughs, leaning forward on the chair. “I’d like to believe you’re the one who needs to focus more,” he mocks, leaning back in the chair again.  
  


“Utterly ridiculous,” she mutters in anger, flipping the pages in the book faster. “Who the hell would cast a curse like this?”  
  


“Love, do you think it’s actually a curse? As you know, curses should have smoke envelop the entire town,” he finally says, turning serious for the time being. “And this one did not. So, I think it’s time you take a different approach to this.”  
  


She shuts the book, tossing it into a cardboard box. “Then what do you think it is? A prank?”  
  


“Aye. Sounds the most plausible of all.”  
  


“I’m starting to think I can’t break…” she trails off, shaking her head. “Whatever this is.”  
  


He shrugs casually. “Perhaps it doesn’t need breaking, and it’s just that we need a replacement for our clothes. Our fabrications easy can be easily fixed at once, as it seems it was a one-time thing,” he explains his own reasoning, digging deep down into the entire problem. “Besides, if I hadn’t known better, I’d say you’re rather  _distracted_  by my dastardly good looks, and that you want me to put on a shirt before you fall toward me in defeat.”  
  


“Are you kidding me right now, Killian?”  
  


Winking, he gets off the chair to go over to her. “Now now, darling. Wouldn’t it be easier if you’d just use your magic to give me my own attire?”  
  


She sighs. “I’m not doing that.”  
  


“And why not?”  
  


“Because.”  
  


“Because what?”  
  


In an effort of pushing her further, he doesn’t need to do anything else. She gets up herself, shoving him against the wall. “Because  _I_ said so.”  
  


“Hardly an excuse,” he retaliates, arching his eyebrow at her. “Tell me,  _Emma_ , why are you so afraid of just giving me a shirt, at least for the time being?”  
  


“I’m not  _afraid_ ,” she mutters, crossing her arms. “You told me to live for the moments, to live my life otherwise I’ll miss it. Well, I am living my life.” She points her finger at him, poking his chest. “This is hilarious. I’m having fun, and  _you_ , are the devilishly handsome pirate who’s poking a hole in my plan- no pun intended.”  
  


“Had I known earlier, I’d keep my shirt off around you,” he says, his lips curling into a smile.  
  


“That’d be different. Whatever caused this little ruckus, definitely appears to have only been an accident.” With a whip of her hair, she grabs her phone- bloody talking device- off her desk. “And does it matter? It’s like you barely wore a shirt anyways,” she jokes, “coming from the fact your chest hair is always showing all the time.”  
  


“Oi, that is a matter of my own style!” he responds, his eyebrows furrowing. After a couple of seconds of just sending death starts are each other, he breaks the silence. “I’d like to say it’s been rather cold without a top.”  
  


“I wonder what will warm you up.” Her tone of voice does not suggest something of the usual. It’s something  _much_  more intriguing and pleasurable.  
  


“Oh, love, you do wonders. I’ll have you know the fact of me losing a shirt isn’t much of a curse or bother anymore. But you’re the bloody curse that’s like a siren, being a tease you are,” he says, using his hook to pull her in. “If this is a curse, I’d never want to to be broken,” he murmurs into her ear.  
  


“Yeah, this curse is just  _really_ hard to break.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was meant to be a humor fic. just for the fun of it.


	25. parental progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tumblr prompt list request.  
> 19\. parents meeting when they take their kids to class au  
> It was originally supposed to be a short oneshot, but it turned out to be 3.4k words instead, so woops, I got carried away.

To be honest, Emma Swan was never fond of taking Henry to school on the first day each year. It’s always been both painful and mesmerizing to see her little boy grow up. Painful because he’s growing up, and mesmerizing because he’s… _growing up_. And don’t even bring Neal into the picture, he’s been long gone ever since, and she hasn’t been looking for relationships ever since her utterly failed one with Neal Cassidy.

 

Taken to Storybrooke, being convinced by her friend Mary Margaret (who is a teacher at the school Henry’s attending) now has her and her son standing in front of the school for the third time in a row now. There are a handful of children already running around being all joyful. There are parents crouched down in front of their children, adjusting the collar of their jackets, tying unlaced shoelaces, and far more. It’s a familiar view, considering she’s already seen it three years in a row, multiple times a week, for six months in a school year.

 

As usual, Emma wishes her son to have a good first day back, to grade five, she watches her boy run off to meet with another boy, who she vaguely infers that he’s _Liam_. He’s apparently new around town, has a father, but no mention of a mother.

 

“Appears our lads get along,” a voice from behind claims.

 

It doesn’t take her a whole lot of brain cells to piece together _what_ that means. She turns around to see him smiling sweetly at her, an _oh my god_ sight to behold. “Uhm, yeah,” she responds nervously, nodding as she glances over her shoulder to catch another glimpse of them. She can’t deny the fact he’s handsome, and he has an accent. Of course he does.

 

“Have I made the lady speechless?” he asks, grinning like a mad-man who knows exactly what he’s doing.

 

Emma scoffs, shaking her head. “You think you’re funny, aren’t you? Little lesson here buddy, I’m the Sheriff around here,” she tells him, crossing her arms.

 

“I’d like to think I am, love.” His grin dims down to a small smile, extending his hand out. “Killian Jones, Sheriff…”

 

“Swan. Emma Swan,” she answers, taking his hand and shaking it. He has a definite warm, firm grip, and it nearly sends shivers down her spine and back. It’s the first time that feeling has returned, but she brushes it off. “Back on to topic though, Henry’s been talking about your son. His name is Liam, right?”

 

“Aye, that it is,” he answers, shoving his hands into his leather jacket (which really suits him by the way). “My boy has been talking about your Henry too. They’ve bonded quite a bit while us adults haven’t been watching them, haven’t they?”

 

She nods, sticking her hands into her jeans pockets. “Yeah. So you’re new around here, at least I think you are. I know familiar faces, you don’t happen to be one of them.”

 

“Indeed... well, partially. I’ve been around town for a little over a month now,” he clarifies, shrugging slightly. “Since our children have bonded, it’s best we bond too, shouldn’t we?”

 

“Sounds like… you’re asking me out.”

 

He laughs softly, but his eyes prove otherwise. There’s a sense of loneliness in there, something painful in those striking blue eyes of his. “No, love, not really. Though it’d really be nice to just get to know the sheriff and the woman whose son is befriending mine.”

 

“No one to go back to?”

 

He shakes his head, his eyes looking down to the ground. “Single parent, Swan.”

 

“I guess that’s _one_ thing we have in common then.”

 

He cocks an eyebrow up at her, raising his head to look at her. “Oh? Quite an intriguing story I’m sure.”

 

“Horrible story, actually. But you’re not at that level yet to deserve my shitty life story. You see, I don’t trust people too easily,” she tells him, “and my friends tell me I’ve always been stubborn.”

 

“I know precisely why someone like you doesn’t trust people easily, but luckily for you,” he smirks, “I like a challenge.”

 

It makes her unbelievably nervous to know he’s willing to go through everything to get her to trust him. And for some reason, even being practically strangers, she already has a tingling feeling telling her there’s a lot under that mask of his that will end up making her open up. “And what’s that?”

 

“You’ve been abandoned.”

 

The word makes her wince - she didn’t expect him to know that. But he does, and he’s fucking spot on and now she wants to run, she wants to pretend this conversation never happened, but that’s simply not a possibility between the two of them. Her son and his son are friends, she can’t ruin Henry’s happiness, and if she’s to run away, she’s going to make a (probably worse) impression on the man standing in front of her with a confident look.

 

“And you want to run right now.”

 

She gulps and closes her eyes at the words, knowing their very truth. She doesn’t know whether he’s trying to provoke her or not - no, certainly not - but it’s making her fear this man more. But it also sparks curiosity of the little bit of loneliness in his eyes earlier. How much do they have in common?

 

“You’re something of an open book.”

 

It takes her a second to realize she’s been holding her breath in for the past minute, but she releases a shaky and and nods curtly. No one has ever been able to read her like this, nor have they been able to predict and be so accurate with their observations. She’s the Sheriff, and she’s being bested by a man who has been in town for one month, well that’s great.

 

“Well good for you,” she mutters, “piecing me together.”

 

“Every orphan has the same look in their eyes. It takes one to know one as well.” He shrugs, pursing his lips.

 

The fists under her crossed arms are making her nails dig into her skin, and to be honest, she doesn’t care. “I’d… appreciate it if we don’t discuss this, especially in public,” she whispers quietly, seeming so vulnerable at the moment - and Emma Swan _hates_ being vulnerable.

 

Killian Jones has been able to understand her within less than fifteen minutes, and that’s not good. Or is it? There’s someone there, someone in front of her who understands her better than her own friends. Someone out there who has perhaps shared the same pain she has. If she believed in kindred spirits, the man in front of her is a given reason to believe.

 

“As you wish,” he concedes, smiling with understanding in his eyes. He tilts his head, looking over her shoulder. “Well, the kids are inside, I suppose I’ll be going. Perhaps we can talk another time? And perhaps a bit less personal the next time around - maybe as our sons play together?”

 

“Yeah… yeah, that’d be nice.”

 

“See you around, Emma.”

 

“You too, Killian.”

 

As he turns away, he shoots her one last smile before he gets into his car and drives away.

 

Well, _shit_. Call her cursed, she has a weird thing for Killian Jones already.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It takes her two entire weeks until she’s casually talking with Killian as both of their kids are playing on the local playground. Seeing Henry laugh and smile makes her do the same, and she knows the same applies to Killian too - well, with Liam.

 

“Mom!”

 

She turns around to see Henry running up with Liam, bright smiles and anticipation written all over them. “Yeah, kid?”

 

“Can we go to Liam’s place tonight? We have a English project to do together!”

 

She’s partially taken away, unknown about her answer. “I - uh…”

 

“Come on, love. I can make us dinner,” Killian agrees, jumping in like it’s the best idea ever.

 

She sighs, nodding her head. How can she deny them both? Seems like a rather douchey move, and as much as she’s used to running away from good things (because she never gets good things, and when she does, they never last for long), she’s not going to this time. “Sounds fine with me,” she responds. Watching Liam and Henry’s smile widen has never warmed her more than before.

 

An hour or so later, she’s looking out the window of of Killian’s place, and it’s a small little cottage not far off the edge of town, with a view of the ocean. It’s truly beautiful, and she’s never bothered to ask why he chose this place, so she keeps to herself as she roams in the living room, seeing the framed picture of him and Liam. None of the mother, however. She shouldn’t feel like this, but she feels a crack in her heart because she’s gone through just about the same.

 

She slowly learns overnight that they’d lost her due to a heart attack, and keeping any pictures of her hurts him and Liam. It’s been three years, and Liam is old enough to still remember her mother, Milah, and sometimes for Killian, it hurts to look at his little boy, to see some resemblance of her mother still residing in him. It hurts the same for Emma, still seeing the features of Neal in Henry. However, she doesn’t say that.

 

Henry and Liam are both having a lot of fun, even though it’s a small English presentation on what they both like about the subject. And given all this time, she wants to leave, thinking she’s been bothering Killian. He’s a great host (and cook), and she doesn’t want to be a burden on his day, but he laughs and shakes his head, insisting everything is just fine as it is, that it’s no problem at all. “I want my lad and yours to be happy, let them continue working,” is his reasoning. He’s right.

 

She finds herself smiling genuinely and laughing at his horrible jokes, but simultaneously intrigued in the stories he tells about being a previous Naval Lieutenant. She feels attracted to him even more.

 

The next morning, she finds herself confused and exhausted still. Her mind circles around a bit before she realizes she’s not exactly at her apartment. “Miss Swan, Henry fell asleep!” Liam had exclaimed the night before. She remembers she didn’t have the heart to wake Henry up, (nor did she actually want to leave), and so Killian offered Emma to take Henry to the spare bedroom and let him sleep there. She vaguely remembers when she had fallen asleep, and the last thing she does recall is being on the couch and a strong arm wrapping around her waist.

 

She recognizes a scent of coffee and eggs anywhere, and when she pads down the hallway still blurry-eyed and lost, she sees a tall figure in sweatpants and a white t-shirt, pouring a cup of coffee.

 

He smiles at her. “Good morning,” he says, sliding the cup onto the wooden table for her. “Henry and Liam are still both asleep, but it’s good to know you’ll be keeping me company, love.”

 

It’s a cheeky statement, but she finds herself feeling happy. “How’d I get into bed?”

 

“Carried you there. As I pride myself of a gentleman, I let you sleep in my bed and I had taken residence on the couch.” He shrugs as if it’s nothing, taking a sip from his mug. “It’s rather fulfilling to say I had a beautiful woman in my bed last night.”

 

It explains why she can smell _him_ all over her now, but damn that bed was comfortable. “Thanks, Killian. You really didn’t need to do that though.” And why does he need to flirt with her all the time? Not that she’s uncomfortable with it, it’s just rather… interesting.

 

“Nonsense, Swan!” He smiles playfully, handing her a plate with some eggs and toast. “Besides, it’s the least I can do. Liam was never the best with making friends, so having Henry has made me and Liam both happier. So, it really is the least I can do to thank you,” he tells her, and it’s truthful because everyone knows Emma Swan can find a liar a mile away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

If you want honesty, Emma is sort of disappointed when she and Henry leaves later on in the morning.

 

But they meet again when she drops Henry off at school. Killian waves at her and smiles, and she finds herself liking his company even more. She even misses his presence.

 

Mary Margaret bombards her with questions after school, but Emma hurries Henry along and leaves before Killian gets there to pick Liam up because she doesn’t want to tell Mary Margaret about the liking she’s developed on a man she hardly knows - _bullshit_.

 

And when every project ends up with Henry and Liam as partners, it’s inevitable to avoid Killian at all.

 

He continues to surprise her, but things take a turn. When Killian politely asks her about what happened to Henry’s father a couple of weeks later, the urge to run resurfaces, and that’s what she does. She runs like hell.

 

The next time they go over, she drops Henry off and says she has some work to do around town (not really) and she notices the way Henry frowns and nods, running up the porch and knocking on the door. She notices Killian wave at her, but the most she does is nod at him and drive off in a rush to escape the binding wrath the man has on her. He affects her more than he should, but she can’t help it, so she runs with things start getting too much for her. She should’ve saw it coming.

 

When she’s going to pick up Henry, there’s a rainstorm brewing, and her car slides out of control. At those moments, she feels so sorry, but she slips into the darkness, no matter how hard she fights it.

 

She wakes up groggily, barely remembering what happened at all. Emma begins to panic, shrugging off the pain in her sides, but someone calms her down. Killian.

 

“You got into an accident, love,” he mutters. She knows he’s suppressing down anger, and she doesn’t blame him for his feeling. It was her fault all along. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so frightened in my life. I don’t think _Henry_ has ever been so frightened in his life.”

 

She can’t talk - she _wants_ to apologize for her mistake so badly. But her throat is dry and her are eyes slowly drooping from the pain medication. His thumb brushing over her cheek is the last thing she remembers before she falls into another slumber.

 

Even the medication can’t keep her down when nightmares of the car swerving out of control comes back into her mind. A nurse always ends up having to sedate her, and she hasn’t got the foggiest clue of who she is anymore.

 

Killian takes care of Henry for her, and for that, she’s eternally grateful. According to Killian, they still work on projects together, as if their brothers. For a moment, she considers that. Brothers. She pushes it away though, focusing on the sweet smile of a man who truly cares for her in front of her. Henry and Liam visit her, always bringing in a positive attitude into the bland hospital room she’s secluded in. And when they’re gone and Killian comes in, she smiles at him and he smiles back sadly, his hand caressing her face gently like she’s the most precious and delicate thing ever.

 

He kisses her that night, and she returns it. It’s a fluttering feeling of care and _love_ , and he leans his forehead against hers, his eyes staring into hers. “I think I like you, Emma,” he murmurs, and it’s somewhat adorable the way he admits it.

 

For once in her life, she’s going to let herself be happy. “I think… I think I like you too, Killian,” she confesses quietly, closing her eyes.

 

He kisses her again, and this time it’s a bit slower, somewhat of them savouring the feeling of each other. The way he sucks at her upper lip is his go-to, and honestly, she’s never felt like she’s belonged before. He treats her and looks at her like how every woman wants to be treated and looked at. She sighs contently, wishing she could get out of bed already. He tells her he wants to hold her, but hates the face of pain she makes whenever something hurts. She wants to stop being in pain.

 

He tells her he’ll stay the night, and she asks about the boys. Says Mary Margaret is watching over them. Emma will need to thank Mary Margaret later.

 

Victor says she’ll need a lot more rest in order to speed up her recovery but the recurring nightmares haunting her sleep prevent her from the rest she needs. In most cases, Killian narrates a story for her which lulls her to sleep, and she doesn’t know how he does it, but she wishes she could thank him for everything he’s done for her and her son.

 

Sometimes, she still wakes in cold sweat and worry about where she is and what happened, forgetting everything from the days before. Killian murmurs adoring comments and words of comfort into her ear, kissing the crown of her head before she falls back asleep.

 

After a little over two months of being bedridden, she barely regains the strength in her legs to walk. He guides her, helps her with everything she needs, and she has no clue of why he’s so patient with her - she never will understand why.

 

Henry practically runs into her arms the day she sees him outside of the hospital, which makes her stumble back, but Killian puts his hand on her lower back to support her. His lips turn into a small smile, and she nods, mouthing a “thanks.”

 

Turns out every project Liam and Henry do together always is a success, and she’s happy for the boys. But internally, she’s still in pain. Killian notices her odd behaviour, begging her to tell him what’s wrong. She wonders why he cares so much.

 

“Because I genuinely care, Emma. I want _you_ to be _happy_ , and unless you tell me what’s wrong, it’s hard for me to do that for _you_.”

 

She breaks into tears because the dam holding her emotions comes crumbling down to pieces. He holds her tightly, swaying back and forth, rubbing his hand up and down her back. She’s practically fisting her hands into his shirt, sobbing because there’s so many years of pain inside, starting from the day she was born, which has been twenty-eight years of bottled up sorrow and grief. When she finally calms down a good couple of minutes later, he kisses her gently, pulling her up and into his arms, placing her down on the bed.

 

He’s just about to leave when she asks him to stay. He gives her a chance to rethink, an out, but the answer is the same, so he finally says yes and holds her closely for the night. The nightmares don’t dare to come.

 

The all worn-out eyes of her are sore in the morning, and she doesn’t want to get out of bed. After several sleepless nights, she finds herself able to sleep when Killian’s by her side. He whispers good morning and presses a soft kiss to the spot behind her ear, pulling her more into his side. For once, she’s letting herself open up to him completely.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When another year goes by, it’s been a hell of a ride. Car crash, recovery, pain, but also joy and laughter.

 

Nothing stays blissful for long, she knows that, but when David tells her to live for all the good moments, she finds herself doing that. Killian gives her that.

 

When Henry asks, “Mom, do you like Killian?” she smiles and nods.

 

“Yeah, kid. I do.”

 

“Cool!” he responds happily, jumping up and down. “As long as you’re happy.”

 

Lately two people have been wanting to make sure she’s happy.

 

The next year she brings Henry to school, it’s different from the previous four years. She brings both Henry and Liam, with a dash of Killian Jones in the passenger seat.

 

 


	26. the 1st

The first time she meets him, David introduces Killian Jones as his best friend from high school. She may be two years behind the both of them, but he sure is a hot dude nevertheless. She practically keeps herself reserved from them though.

 

He wears the typical leather jacket which clearly complements his shining blue eyes of joy and intelligence. He’s also a part of the swimming team with David, however Killian is the captain of the team, ahead of her brother. She’s caught sight of them swimming at the schoolwide pool a couple of times, and if she needs to admit anything, he’s a hell of a good swimmer.

 

There are times where she simply doesn’t want to go to school, even when David marches into her room and encourages her to walk with him. It doesn’t work that way. They don’t know what she goes through every day when she heads off to class. She gets stares, and as subtle as they think they are, Emma never fails to notice the way they look at her for being that new girl who’s adopted. It hurts no matter what, even if she loves David and his mother, Ruth. It never fails to tug on strings which still control her emotions.

 

Before school, it’s always a ‘time to get this day over with’’ mood. At lunch, she sits against her locker staring at the floor, her eyes seeing the little shuffling movement of feet passing by, bringing along the chatter of people and their friends. After school, she doesn’t have the strength in herself to wait for David. The moment she steps out of the school doors, her feet are guiding her back to the house without a second thought. For some reason, she feels eyes on her when she leaves.

 

When she’s fifteen and in grade ten, the bullying doesn’t particularly stop. The closest of friends she has are two other girls, Mary Margaret and Ruby, and none of them can do anything to help her. There are nights where she goes home and hears the conversations between Killian and David about how she’s faring. She falls asleep to these distant talks, only remembering the voices echoing through her mind about how painful everything truly is.

 

There are times where she wants to fight back, but because of this behaviour, it’s gotten her kicked out before or sent back into the system. For once she doesn’t wish of this - mainly because David’s the only one who understands her - so it explains her withdrawal of a personality. There are times where she ends up sitting in the washroom stall, praying for the day to go by quicker before returning to class and staying silent at her desk.

 

Her marks are not bad. She does well for her own abilities, but there are times where she simply can’t keep up with curriculum because the voices in her head run free and wild and completely out of her own control. The voices that bother her and burden a great weight on her shoulders.

 

There’s a tree outside on the back field where she retreats to during the Spring and Autumn time. Sometimes, Killian comes out and sits beside her, joking and flirting like his usual self. He happens to be one part of her life that manages to brighten her mood, no matter what happens. But through hushed conversations, she knows that there’s a dark bit of his past he covers up with this type of usual bravado of his. She never questions it though, and if he’s grateful for it, she never notices him present anything like that.

 

Days where she returns, sitting at her desk and completely her homework, she hears more voices from Killian and David under her on the porch. It’s difficult to not try and listen to them, but all she can really make out is that Killian is meeting a girl called Milah.

 

She tries not to think anything more about that, but regardless, there’s a slight drop of disappointment inside of her.

 

It’s during her third year in high school at age sixteen where things start going a little bit better for her way, at least that’s what she originally thought. She falls in love with a guy named Neal. He’s sweet and kind, promising and almost seems unrealistic, so of course she grows head over heels for this boy. They go on for awhile, making plans of the future, discussing things that probably are just unreachable dreams. She trusts him with all of her heart, but it eventually doesn’t go well when she learns of his cheating with another girl. Trust is easily thrown out the window. Realistically, they break up and it smashes both her heart and her soul.

 

Both Killian and David visit from college whenever they can, and even though she’s somewhat happy of their visits, she doesn’t feel the usual spark she does when seeing the two most important people in her life. Putting up her best fake smile, she hugs the both of them tightly, insisting that she misses the two of them. She doesn’t mention her broken heart from Neal to either of them.

 

It’s the first night Killian spends since three months ago in the spare bedroom. Unlike any of the three other people in this old house, she sneaks outside and sits on the porch, gazing at the faint stars blinded by light pollution.

 

She doesn’t know why he cares, but he ends up draping his jacket over her shoulders and sitting down next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder giving her a tight squeeze. “Rough day?” he asks softly.

 

“You could say that,” she mutters in response, closing her eyes and sighing out of her nose. The smell of his cologne and the warmth of his body gives her the smallest opportunity to just escape into an ethereal world. She doesn’t want to cry, nor is she going to, but there’s something about his company that makes her feel safe.

 

When Christmas rolls around and only David returns with Mary Margaret, she tries not to show her disappointment in Killian’s lack of presence. He’s with Milah, his girlfriend.

 

She’s eighteen and fresh out of high school, not having the foggiest idea of where she’s intended on going. David’s mother insists on law enforcement since she tells her she is a vigilant, strong-willed person. Emma hugs her and thanks her for the suggestion, taking it into consideration.

 

On New Years, Killian returns with David for a celebration, but she notices his blue eyes have dimmed down to something less than the usual playful and caring sight. It’s none of her business, so she keeps to herself and just enjoys the time they have together before they have to return back to college. She tries not to care, but she does and she’s attracted to him.

 

She doesn’t miss the way he completely downs at least four bottles of beer within an hour.

 

There’s a missing smile two days later when they leave, and she tries to ignore how he seems more distant, she tries to ignore how his hugs lack something important, but those are all tries. Watching the car disappear into the distance is like an anchor dropping onto her heart, making her harbour another weight of pain. She always misses them, and she sure hasn’t been considering getting into a relationship, not after the entire Neal ordeal.

 

Training physically is a treacherous amount of hard work, but she’s determined to get herself a job in the BPD. When she does get a job as a detective, it’s where she meets a man called Graham. It’s also when she moves out of David’s mom’s house into a shitty little apartment enough to suffice her living standards everyday.

 

She falls into a relationship with this man by the time she’s twenty-one, but it all breaks apart again when he gets shot trying to defend one of his comrades. And right to the heart. Only another frequent, stinging reminder that she’s just not fit to be happy. Never was, never will.

 

She throws herself into work completely, trying to flush out the reminder of his death, at least until the funeral. But it’s difficult to do that when she works in the same office as he does, taking over his position because he’s now deceased and needs a replacement. His jacket is on the coat hanger by the door, and everytime she sees it, she wants to break down and wish for a better life.

 

At the funeral, her body aches and she can barely keep herself standing in between David and Killian. She doesn’t utter a single word, only staring at nothing as the hole in herself carves itself deeper, watching the dirt cover up the remains of the man she could have truly loved. Tears flow freely down her face and drop onto the fresh land under her feet, just like another love crushed and stepped all over.

 

Ruby gets her to go out with her for a drink, but that turns into something far worse. She doesn’t remember what happened, but apparently Killian picked her up and took her back to her apartment, crashing on the couch after she was secure in bed. He seemed even worse than her - he doesn’t really talk about Milah anymore.

 

Emma continues to mourn Graham’s death, still hardly over the fact that every man she ends up with vanishes from her life before she has a say about it. She realizes Killian is not a part of that list.

 

Pain and sorrow soon become unbearable, and one night she ends up at his apartment doorstep unaware of what she's doing herself. He opens the door with a groggy expression, seemingly trying to absorb the sight in front of him. She knows she's a mess, but she's just tired of her life, tired of her inconsistent and failing relationships, tired of all the incoherent murmurs of promises and dreams smashed and broken within seconds of time when things become too good to be true, tired of all the hurt in her heart tumbling into a large mess she can't handle anymore.

 

Her hands are bunched up at her sides, the stinging of overnight tears completely overwhelming her sense of sight. She squeezes her eyes shut, not saying a word to him, and she wants to turn away and run. She thinks it's all just a mistake and she she should go back to the apartment and just deal with it herself until he pulls her in forcefully, wrapping his arms around her back and rubbing up and down before she finally gains control of her senses, letting some stray tears drop onto the wooden floorboards beneath them. His face is buried into her neck, his hot breath only a thought for her to process that he'll always be with her, through every hardship. He's the anchor to her struggling ship.

 

She's painfully aware that she could have went to David instead, but her feet had brought her to Killian in response to her emotional turmoil. He holds her for a long time, kicking the door shut behind him and leading her down a hallway, into his bedroom. Her usual instincts would be to run from all of this, but she's tired and she just wants peace. He gives her that, even when it can be during the most impossible looking situations.

 

Thoughtfully, he removes her jacket and unzips her boots, setting them aside from the bed. "I'll take the couch," he whispers, brushing his lips over her cheeks.

 

It takes a lot of guts for her request, but it ends up being something she desperately needs anyways. "P - Please... stay," she mumbles in between sniffles, rubbing her eyes from the dried tears.

 

She tries to ignore the way he sighs and climbs into the bed, pulling the covers up and over their shoulders. She tries to excuse or feign a reason for herself to shift closer toward him. She tries to forget the pain as his arms wrap around her and pulls her closer against his chest. None of those work in the end.

 

"Sleep, love," he murmurs, pressing a kiss into her hair.

 

She does sleep, and that marks the first time she sleeps with him.

 

Morning comes after a nights rest, the side of the bed where Killian had been occupying cold and empty. Immediately, she starts to panic, thinking that everything had chased him away, everything had made him run away from her because that's what happens with every person she's with. They leave her, and she's god damn tired of people leaving her. The only two men in her life are the current pillars supporting her and if one leaves, everything's bound to go downhill.

 

From the crying, her eyes struggle to stay open from the sunlight filtering in through the windows. Slipping on her jacket and tugging her boots back on, she shuffles down the hallway. She realizes he's not gone, only awake and making some coffee. If she's going to get through the day, she's definitely going to need her caffeine.

 

"Good morning, Swan," he greets with a small smile. "Coffee?"

 

This is the part where she makes a beeline for the door, to leave and never turn back. Instead, she does one of the unexpected and nods at his request.

 

In two weeks, she's being forced to take a week off from work. She begs to not be put off, but they insist she needs a break otherwise she's going to break. It's a false statement, she's already broken. Perhaps broken to the point of never being fixed again.

 

Killian makes a surprise visit to her apartment, and she's an utter mess of disappointment. "What has gotten into you, Swan?" is a question he asks and has the right to refuse an answer to.

 

She still answers, "Life has gotten into me - sick and tired of it all."

 

It's hard for her to not look at his eyes and see the care and love, and she can't fall in love with him, he's her friend. It's not a relationship she's going to lose because of her possible petty infatuation with him. It's hard to reject the embraces he gives, not when it offers her a sense of safety and familiarity. It's hard to not bust out a small smile or laugh when he tells a smooth joke.

 

They spend the day together, simply discussing their failed relationships. She doesn't shed a single tear anymore, it's simply out of her system now. All she cares about now it paying her rent and getting work done because there's nothing else she values in life now. She can say she's happy and she can say she's free, but those are all words that mean nothing to her because the intentions with them have fallen short.

 

She learns of his story with Milah, that they broke it off, that everything had gone downhill by the end of college. There’s an unending circle of pain in his eyes, a sadness that feels incurable because she knows the exact feeling that lasts for a lifetime. She tells him the old tale of Neal and her in high school, the unspoken words of resentment ringing in her words even after years of [getting] over him. It feels nice to let it out though, to simply speak of things that continue to burden her each and every day. He holds her hand and squeezes it as she retells - relives - the story of a high school romance.

 

There are times where she laughs (bitterly), yet also wants to just find something to break her fall. After years of stubborn behavior, she admits that Killian has always been that thing, that person.

 

It’s a spur of the moment the first time the both of them kiss. Slow and tender as if they’re both afraid of losing each other. She feels as if her throat is clogged, preventing her from breathing, to only focus on the man who’s broken down her hundred walls.

 

The man who was the first to connect flawlessly with her through body and soul. The man who was the first to sit with her during the Autumn season under the tree (ignoring the looks given to him because he was the famous Captain of the swim team), watching the sunlight seep through the yellow-turned leaves. The man who was the first to become her friend when no one else would. The man who was the first to truly believe in her when no one else could - when she couldn’t believe in herself.

 

It’s also the first when she feels a difference in their kiss, an odd yet gravitating pull of a sensation in the pit of her stomach. The first she feels something close enough to a concept called home.

 

One day she’s drowning and drowning, but the next, she’s flying and flying. It’s the first time she’s experienced a vibe like this.

 

He asks her out on their first date. He grins in a way she’s missed for so long when she says, “Okay.” It warms her soul when he’s plainly ecstatic and not suffering.

 

She’s twenty-four when they have their first major fight. She’s twenty-four when she sits at home for the first time in three years, wishing if her life could go by faster, to forget about happy endings, and only just scrape her way through. They fall into a separation where she misses him, where she misses everything about him for an entire year.

 

She’s celebrating her twenty-fifth birthday all alone when there’s a banging at her door. It’s the first time she sees Killian after they broke on bad terms. He’s holding a bouquet of her favourite flowers and a letter neatly sealed. It’s a crying pain of silence between them, but she takes them from him and sets them in an empty vase, after dusting and rinsing it out.

 

“I am fully aware that you may - will - never forgive me for what I’ve done,” he mutters, closing his eyes. “But I have also realized that I am madly in love with you, Emma, and that I’ve regretted every single second spent away from you, wallowing in the pain and disappointment of myself. Make no mistake though, I will never stop loving you, for you were the first I’ve ever truly loved and still love.”

 

It’s the first true declaration of love he’s ever made to her. He caresses her cheek in the most gentlest of manners, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead before wishing her, “Happy birthday, my Swan.” It’s when she smells the scent of rum, she learns that he’s been suffering again. He leaves before even she can say something to him.

 

While her knees buckle and a traitorous tear slips out from the corner of her eye, it’s the first time she realizes she’s always loved Killian.

 

When she hesitantly opens the letter, her eyes immediately well with tears again.

 

> _**You were always the first, and you always will be.** _
> 
> _**You were always the first one I loved, and I will always love you.** _
> 
> _**You were always the first one I wanted to spend my entire life with, and I will always want to spend it with you.** _
> 
> _**You are the one for me, my love.** _
> 
> _**Forgive me or not, my love and desire will be forever.** _
> 
> _**\- Killian Jones** _

 

In the first time in her life, she makes a choice.

 

To be with him. The first right choice.

 

So, she ditches the letter on her bed, grabs her jacket, gets her boots on, and chases after him in the rain. It’s the first time she’s yelled his name out of desperation and a million mishaps in her life catching up to her if she doesn’t make this decision to be with him now.

 

She clings onto him, clutching and clawing. For once she’s not running away from something, she’s running toward it. It’s the first time she’s done that.

 

Although the road is rocky and full of hardships for their development to get back into a relationship, things go smoothly for them anyways. She wakes up in his arms, to soft kisses and declarations of love each morning. She retires to bed each night with a thought that this is the life she wants, the life she finally believes she’ll deserve, the man who will always love her, even when she doesn’t love herself.

 

A night of torture soon arrives four months after their reunion. After chasing a runaway criminal, a man of his own backup shoots her in the shoulder, and that’s the first time getting shot and passing out from the abundant amount of blood loss before backup and paramedics arrive.

 

It’s the first night in the hospital where she’s in the darkness and struggling to wake up. All of her agony reminds her perhaps it was meant to happen, that she was meant to be shot. But when memories of Killian appear in front of her eyes, she remembers that she’ll be ruining his happiness. That she’ll end up being a source, a reason, for him to return back to the glasses of rum, for him to lose the bright blue in his eyes, for him to have a lack of a smile or a cough of laughter. She can’t do that. He’s fought for her before, it’s her turn, her first turn to fight back now.

 

As long as her heart continues to beat, no matter the constriction, she fights back. She wakes in a gasp, wanting to grasp something, anything, but the pain in her right shoulder doesn’t seem to tolerate that. The nurses rush in and sedate her by that point, and she can hear the muffled screaming of Killian’s voice, but she falls back into sleep before she can even see his face again. God, how does he look again? She doesn’t remember too much.

 

They say she’s lucky she managed to survive her injury. There was far too much blood loss, merely sitting on the edge between life and death.

 

It’s 4:27 AM when she wakes up the following day, her eyes peeling open, a weight on her left hand. His hand is clasped over hers, his head resting on top of it as if he’s had the longest day in his life. She huffs out a breath, smiling at the view. It wakes him up too, and the smile that plasters across his face accompanying his glimmering blue eyes filling with tears of relief makes her forget that she’s even in a hospital.

 

The first time she steps foot back into the real world, everything feels so off balance.

 

She’s twenty-eight when he takes her sailing for the first time. Everything is perfect, but imperfect, and she wonders about her future.

 

It’s later on during the sunset in the middle of no where, does he get on one knee. “I have loved you since the first day we met. I have promised myself to never stop loving you, no matter where you are, far or close. I have made the mistake of leaving once, I don’t intend to let you down like that again. What do you say, love? Marry me?”

 

She knows if she says “yes,” she’ll break down into his arms. So she laughs and shakes her head. “What do you think?” is her answer of both hope and joy as he slips the beautiful ring onto her finger.

 

She’s twenty-nine when they get married, something small but memorable for the both of them nonetheless. That marks the day of their commitment and love for each other. She knows the meaning behind “I do” will never fade from existence, not while they still live.

 

She’s thirty-two by the time Liam is born, a bundle of everything Killian and her have ever imagined, even through the pain of hours of labour. Watching Killian, her husband and love of her life hold the baby boy is the best sight she’s seen in ages.

 

She knows that if he’s loved her since the first moment, he’ll be the exact same toward their son.

 

It’s the first time they’re both parents.

 

It’s the first time for a lot of things, and you never forget your first.

 

 


	27. all over again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple of chapters in this collection will be from the 400+ followers fic special I'm doing over on Tumblr.
> 
>  **Prompt:** I am a sucker for Pirate!Daddy Killian stories. Basically when Hook is a father before he meets Emma in the EF and how that changes the dynamic of them meeting/falling in love. Or it can even a combination of that and cursed!Killian. If any of that inspires your muse, I'd love a set up of Emma and Hook falling in love under those circumstances. Or if you want AU, single dad Killian with Emma. Anything with Killian as a father before meeting Emma, basically! :) Congrats!! - lenfaz

Everything stings like she’s just gotten stung by a hundred hornets or something. Apparently she has a thing with attracting calamity’s her way, because -  _Storybrooke_. She’s the Savior - and where the  _fuck_ is she?

If she’s not mistaken, she’s back in the Enchanted Forest,  _again_ , and this means either there was another curse or portal, and neither sound more likely than the other from what was going on back in Storybrooke, but damn it, she’s separated from all these people again, and she is internally panicking as if she’s not going to ever find her way back to any of them, to  _him_ , and that’s not a good thing. And to add onto this stack of worries, they have a son (excluding Henry), and if everyone’s been swept into the Enchanted Forest again, just where in the world is she going to start looking?

_Am I going to find them?_

_Are they going to find me - is he going to find me?_

_Can I even do this at all?_

Brushing the back of her jeans off and glancing around, it’s not night yet, but it sure is close to sunset because the colours of the sky are not a bright shade of blue with looming white clouds. Plus, her leather jacket really doesn’t do much to protect her from the cold of the night, she knows that for sure considering she’s already been here once and was hoping to not return, at least not on these types of circumstances. Sighing, she decides to start trekking through the forest she’s already found herself in anyways - best to find shelter or to make a fire for the night.

Throwing herself so into trying to find shelter and a safe place to sleep for the night is rudely interrupted by the distant sound of horses clattering their way down the path. Albeit she’d really like to jack one of those horses, she’s never ridden one before, and it’s probably going to cause drama and that’s never a good thing. She just hopes the timeline is as it still follows, that she hasn’t just gone back into the past.

A curse, that’s what it is, but she doesn’t remember much of what happened back in Storybrooke before everything went downhill. In fact, the simplistic details of remembering that there was danger and that something had happened right before she passed out is the only thing she seems to recall.

Waiting for the horses to pass by, she carefully trails behind them at a safe distance. Perhaps following them will lead her somewhere, somewhere not as deserted as being in the middle of the forest,  _scared_ ,  _dark_ ,  _worried_ , and  _alone_. She can’t help but zone out to the loud thumping in her chest, her heart pacing quickly as her mind circles around the people she needs to find, whether it be by figuring out how to get back to Storybrooke, or finding them  _here_ if they’re all residing in the Enchanted Forest just as she is.

She doesn’t know how she manages to stay stealthy enough that the people on those horses don’t turn around and murder her… or something, but she does keep it quiet enough, and luckily fate’s on her side when she’s approaching a small like village. Although she knows it’s best to keep her distance from that, it’s just a little bit of a landmark for her to remember in case she forgets where she is when she wakes in the morning all cold and confused for the - what, third time today?

Finding a good large tree to lean against is the only thing that’s close enough for comfort (bullshit, since nothing is comfortable on the floor), but she’ll have to make do of it for now. Her knees lift up to her chest as she wraps her arms around them tightly, sighing as she places her head down, hoping that the battle of worried thoughts will eventually stop when she succumbs to sleep. Her legs are tired from trudging through the forest, she’s freaking cold as hell, and she’s currently pretty emotionally unstable. As much as she’s angry about whatever new problem has grown (seeing as she’s the savior), it’s a mother, and  _wife’s_ instinct to worry about her husband and children just as much as anything else.

It doesn’t take too long before she drifts off, the sound of crickets and owls hooting around her as she dreams and hopes that everything’s going to be okay. It’s still her, still Emma Swan - no matter how hard she tries to be as optimistic as she can (blame her parents and Killian, oh and Henry), she still seems to expect the worse of all things, sticking to the back of her mind forever. It’s some sort of habit that’s been etched into her since a child, since she was always so lost back then, and she’s just as lost now without a trace of her family and friends, but now,  _now_ she’s able to think a little bit clearer, to see that there’s still a thread of hope to always balance on when things seem the most bleak.

However, as much as sleep has already claimed it, it doesn’t tame her. She has nightmares, plagued with the fears of losing her family, the fears of losing her boy’s, losing all of her friends she’s made in Storybrooke. Frightening as it is, she wakes up with her eyes wide open to the veil of darkness from the night. Not a difficult decision for her to make when it comes to realize that there’s no point in attempting to sleep again considering it’ll only make her worry further (as if her concerns aren’t enough already), she stands up slowly and peeks over the bushes to find that the village is illuminating a faint yellow-orange glow from the burning torches.

Rubbing her hands together to create a little bit of warmth, she realizes that this village isn’t just a regular village. There are loud rumbles of voices and laughter coming from a nearby building, and she knows those voices. Pirate. And if pirates are nearby, then that means there’s a port somewhere close, which means a possibility of finding Killian. That is, if he’s a pirate in this life - god, not an assuring possibility to even consider.

Emma sticks to the shadows, the small alleys, or spots behind the huts and houses, instead of going out into the open streets. Her gun is not in her holster, and great that’s really fantastic news, of course she doesn’t need some sort of weapon to defend herself! Clenching her hands into fists as she takes quiet steps around the back, the sound of water starts to become louder, and soon enough, she’s meeting a large ship that is not mistakenly, The Jolly Roger. (Unless memory is serving her wrong here.)

It would be a dumb move to board the ship, especially because she doesn’t know whether Killian is on it, or someone else. If she had a change of wardrobe, everything could be a lot easier, but she is not close to possessing anything of the sort. Cursing her luck, she quietly sneaks around the barrels barricading the side of the docks, her eyes darting in several directions. And then she hears it. The voice of a man singing a familiar lullaby she’s heard at least hundreds of times when Liam couldn’t sleep. She knows exactly what’s going on, exactly who he’s singing to. She knows he’s holding the boy closely, staring up at the stars while singing to him because he did something similar before. And it’s painful to think about because she doesn’t know if he remembers, if either of them remember anything about her, or about Storybrooke.

And then she sees them - only the tip of the heads, but she seems them. Her little boy with the dirty blonde hair and striking blue eyes like his father’s. Her husband’s disheveled head of hair and a grin plastered across his face. She ducks and moves around, but even with the sounds of the sea crashing against the side of the Jolly, it does little to mask her footsteps, no matter how quiet it is.

She need to know if he remembers anything. She’s crying inside from seeing him smiling at their son, her out of the picture. It hurts horribly, like an agonizing wound ripping through her chest. So, she waits. She knows he knows she’s here, that someone is spying. Good god that he hasn’t shouted out and given her all the attention in the world. She wonders about the possibilities of them having their memories. If she has them, why can’t they have them? Closing her eyes for the slightest second to bask in her world of questions near the ship is quite possibly the most dumbest mistake she’s made yet. There’s a shadow over her, the silhouette of the man she loves standing in front of her with a scowl. His eyes are not the usual sparkle of the sea blue, but something dark, as if he thinks she’s a threat to him and their kid.

Waiting. It sucks, but she waits and observes how his face softens and his eyes start to search her through the silence. Does no better to dull the pain in her heart, seeing him so clueless about who she is. She wants to run, let them be happy because this is quite possibly exactly what they need, but she doesn’t seem to have the heart to deprive everyone’s life from a savior. She can’t just leave, because that’s exactly what the curse wants her to do, and her job is to break it,not let it drag on. But she knows true love’s kiss only works when the both of them care for each other - she can’t just force herself onto him.

He commands her to stand up, and just hearing his voice sends a jolting shiver down her spine. She does as he says, standing up as the burning at the edge of her eyes nearly collapse into a heap of tears.

“Do I know you? You seem familiar,” he says, analyzing her critically.

She presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth, unable to say anything because she’s deathly scared of what’s going to happen. “I don’t know. Maybe we’ve seen each other before,” she quietly responds, trying to keep her voice steady and unwavering. He doesn’t seem very convinced though, because he reaches for her wrist, brushing his thumb over it. She gulps, staring down at his hand. “What’re you doing?”

“Why do I feel like I know you enjoy holding hands?” he murmurs, his brows furrowed together in that adorable fashion, like when he was trying to figure out how the TV worked a few years ago. “Your hair reminds me of my lad,” he continues, his eyes narrowing as she smiles discreetly, but not discreetly enough. “Your smile is… so familiar, too. Are you positive we’ve never met before?”

“I don’t know. But aren’t you a pirate? You’ve met plenty of women before,” she remarks, swallowing as she sees him frown. “I could just have a familiar face.”

“Certainly does not justify your reasoning to being near my ship, lass.”

She shrugs, blinking. “Look, I’m lost and I was hoping to find help, but I’m not one for the stench and rousey noises of taverns,” she says casually. That’s when she’s realized she’s screwed up, revealing that they did not meet on how usual pirates would find a woman.

“Then that means we’ve not met on… those circumstances,” he mumbles, eyeing her carefully. “Perhaps I can point you to the nearby inn?”

“No money,” she quietly responds, her eyes casting back down to the ground, staring at her boots, with the vision of his long leather jacket hanging.

“What’s your name?”

“Swan.” She sighs. “Emma Swan.”

“Well, Swan,” he begins, straightening his posture as he glances over her shoulder and nods toward it. “If you’re willing to trust a  _pirate_ , I can offer you a lodging in my unoccupied cabin for the night.”

“But you said you had a child?” she asks, though rhetorically considering she knows everything anyways. “Really, I don’t want to be a bother,” she tells him softly, hardly capable of keeping her composure. Hell, this is like hell. She wishes for him to remember, but it’s not that easy. It’s never been easy - maybe that’s the way it’ll always go.

He shakes his head. “A woman, no matter, should not be sleeping on the streets. I am a pirate, but I have my own code to follow, and my boy won’t mind, he has his own little room,” he insists, stepping aside. “Follow me, Swan.”

Some sort of voice in her head is telling her to turn him down, but the weight of loss from seeing his stupid, attractive face, completely unaware that the woman standing in front of him is his wife… and the boy on this ship is  _their_ son -

Stepping out of her reverie, she slowly nods and smiles a small smiles, grateful that this man isn’t that much of a big bad pirate. She’s heard of his past, many of his wrong-doings, many of his mistakes, and perhaps, perhaps Liam being in his life (now?) is partially helping him move on. But she wonders gradually about what he seems to remember about the mother, about who she is and where she’s disappeared to.

When her feet hit the gangplank, and he carefully rests his hand on her back, pushing her forward gently, a traitorous tear nearly slips out of her eyes because she remembers of the days she first set foot on the ship. Albeit the good and bad memories, there’s a hole in her heart as her feet slide across the sleek wooden planks. She knows the path to his cabin because she’s already stepped into it plenty of times back in Storybrooke, and she tries not to walk there on instinct. Her steps are cautious, letting him guide her even if she knows almost everything about this ship just as he does.

“It is much better than sleeping on the cold hard ground,” he says, beginning a conversation as he opens the door, “and you do not need to pay me back for anything. I - you take as long as you need since we won’t be leaving port for the next couple of days. My men need a break from being at sea for so long.”

“Thank you…”

“Killian. Killian Jones, at your service.”

Gentleman as always, she muses in her head, smiling and nodding as she perches on the edge of the bed. It’s easy to get lost in the memories of when she first couldn’t handle being around her parents, so she sought him out at the Jolly and he let her sleep -

“Thank you, Killian.”

* * *

She wishes she had ran away when she had the chance -

She’s stuck here now, having to retreat to the help of Killian Jones who doesn’t remember who he is, who his  _family_ is, and the moment she laid her eyes back on that little boy who’s only five, she didn’t even realize her jaw had been hanging open with tears at the brink of her eyes because who wouldn’t tear up at seeing their own son happy, and adorable? And god, she missed  _all_ of this with Henry, this was her second chance, and seeing him makes her realize how she’s missing it now by not getting this god damn curse broken any sooner. This time, it was fully intentional, and right now, she’s just watching everything fold out as a different story because  _no one_ remembers except her.

It’s difficult for her to hold on, to keep all these overwhelming emotions at bay. But Killian seems to be welcoming, never minding her presence on  _his_ ship, always smiling and laughing. But that rumble of noise that comes from him makes her smiles too, so maybe it’s not that bad. It’s like falling in love with this man all over again, except… in a completely different dynamic. (And because she’s always been in love with him - a curse setting them back doesn’t change how she feels anyways.)

“Swan!” he calls, closing the door behind him, the sun shining on his face. “I have some deals to get done with inland, can you look after Liam for awhile?”

There’s that glimmering look in his eyes again, and it’s not like she’s going to deny  _that_ request. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

And just like that, the little boy runs out and calls out, “Papa!” in his happy little tone, grinning like a complete child (because he is, duh), and Killian turns around and picks him up. He’s become a master with keeping his hook out of the child’s grasp though. “Is Emma going to play with me today?”

“Aye, my little pirate.” Killian chuckles at the boy’s enthusiasm, glancing back at Emma. “Think you can handle him, love?”

She’s unsure if he’s aware of that little endearment, that pet name rolling off the tip of his tongue like it’s nothing. “I love a challenge,” she shoots back, throwing his own words right back at him, which turns his small smile into a smirk.

* * *

He’s supposed to set sail today, and it hurts to think about it because it’s been four days since she found herself back in the Enchanted Forest, three days since she found Killian and Liam, and god, she feels it in her bones that something is going to happen soon, but she can’t lay her finger on _what_ \- that’s the worse feeling to have.

Her nights seem to be filled with more terrors, at least ever since she’s been around Killian and Liam. She starts having plenty of flashbacks, such as the joy when Liam first started walking, or when he said his first word. (God damn  _Papa_ came out of his mouth first, she lost a bet!) Frequently, she wakes with a pounding heart and freezing hands, a busy mind with grinding gears of memories and the past, and it hurts more than it should.

Blue sea, open and wide, manages to comfort her for the time being, letting her take her mind off from the more pressing issues of a fucking curse to break. She can hear the laughter of the crew, the laughter of Liam and Killian behind her, and she smiles to herself, letting her elbows rest on the mast. She’s positively sure everyone is glad to be heading out to sea again, and she doesn’t even know why she’s still here. It’s already hard enough for her to get through the nights, alone in the cabin herself.

Turning around, she sees Liam jumping up and down energetically, and Killian’s rolling his eyes and ruffling the young boy’s hair. God, this… it’s so hard, so difficult to soak in because she misses everything about the two of them. Even though she’s living her life here, everything is fake, they don’t have real memories. Sighing, her eyes flicker between the father and son relationship, the sort of thing she’s been so used to doing back at the house. The house where the floorboards creak on the porch, where the sunlight filters through the curtains early in the mornings, where their son runs in and jumps on their bed insisting on them to get up (he really has no proper sleep schedule), where there were shared moments on the couch in front of the TV with Liam tucked in between them comfortably.

“No sword for you yet, lad,” Killian tells him. “Maybe in five more years.”

“But that means I’ll be ten!” Liam exclaims, pouting while he’s at it. “That’s far.”

“Well aren’t you growing  _intelligent_ ,” he responds.

Overhearing conversations like this hurts too, hurts and heals simultaneously. The simplicity and love behind each word, the bonding and care behind each intention. She wishes to be apart of it. She’s so close, yet so far away from them, and there’s not a thing she can do yet.

“Hey,” he calls quietly. “Everything okay there, love?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just… tired,” she stutters out, rubbing her arm. “You’re leaving today, right?”

“Aye,” he breathes, locking eyes with her. “Swan, you know… I usually don’t take people onto my ship like this, but… Liam likes you, quite a lot if I’m not mistaken, and - perhaps I like you too. I know you may not be fond of a pirate’s life, but we actually do not do much nowadays except sailing the seven seas and enjoy what we can. It’d be far too much danger to put into the boy.” He shrugs, itching that spot behind his ear. “I was considering… maybe you’d like to join us?”

The request makes her freeze in spot, and she doesn’t know how he’s still able to make her speechless, but with his charming smiles and endless set of innuendos, she’s never been able to fully resist herself. She’s tried taking the easy way out, to run, but then again she can’t do that now, she’s gotten so far, she has these people she loves with all of her heart, she wants them to return to her… right, that’s why she’s here. To break the curse.

Smiling, she nods. “Hope I’m not a burden,” she says nervously.

“Nonsense. I know you may not think of this, but you’ve really been like a mother to the lad. I don’t think I’ve seen him smile so much ever since everything went slightly downhill,” he explains, turning his head back to glance at the boy sitting on the small steps. “I should be thanking you, Emma, for really being something he’s never had. Being a single father and pirate isn’t the easiest role to take on, but I couldn’t deprive the boy of parents or family,” Killian continues, a tinge of sadness in his voice. She knows he’s referring to Neal (or Baelfire, whatever) and how he lost Liam - how his father abandoned him.

“Nothing to thank, Captain. I should thank you for taking me onto your ship in the first place.”

“Well, you were warming my bed…”

“You don’t even sleep there!” she retaliates, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re pretty incorrigible.”

“And you don’t mind it one bit, darling,” he drawls, grinning like he’s winning this little banter.

Rolling her eyes, she yawns. “Excuse me, but I think I’ll go  _warm_ your bed again,” she mutters playfully, brushing past him quickly, striding into the cabin.

* * *

Things start to grow and expand, and she’s not sure it’s possible, but she loves him even more than she used to. (Probably impossible, but can’t she dream?)

It’s been a couple of weeks on the Jolly. Liam always has a bright face on, smiling and laughing and being happy, and that’s one of the few things getting her slowly through to breaking this curse. The other of course is Killian, oh so sweet Killian, making her laugh and smile herself when she finds herself having a rough day. Although, she’s been keeping her nightmares to herself, sometimes finding her own feet guiding her out of the cabin and into the open, looking up at the stars.

Tonight is one of those nights.

She knows it’s childish, they used to say it’s childish, but she still wishes. Wishes that she’ll be able to break this curse soon, that she’ll be finally reunited with everyone once again, but most important Henry, Liam and Killian. And god, he must have a way of sneaking up without her noticing, because he slowly approaches up next to her, taking her hand and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, smiling at her.

“Can’t sleep, Swan?”

She shrugs, her eyes slowly closing as she listens to the waves and the calm winds. “No, that’s exactly why I’m out here in the middle of the night,” she replies sarcastically, evading the question from having to answer to anything specific.

“Penny for your thoughts, love? I’ve particularly noticed you coming out here often.”

“Nothing, really-”

“Don’t think you can lie so easily and get away with it, I have a five year old son who’s tried numerous times and failed,” he quickly interrupts, turning her to face him. “Just - I don’t know, perhaps I can be of aid.”

“Nightmares, Killian,” she whispers quietly, open and vulnerable.

His brows knit together as he looks at her with all the concern in the world, like pouring it over her. “Do you have family?”

Swallowing hardly, she closes her eyes and shrugs, unable to answer with anything specific, because  _he’s_ her family, and so is Liam and Henry, and  _everyone_ back in Storybrooke. “It’s… complicated, I guess,” she mutters, shaking her head. “But you’re family - sort of… yeah,” she faintly adds on, “Liam too.”

Honestly, you can ask Emma if she leans in first or not, but their lips meet slowly, tenderly, and he’s treating her like the most fragile thing at the moment, like the most precious person he’s ever met since Liam was born. Good  _god_ , she was not prepared to feel this again, the surge of emotions and the spark of magic inside of her flowing, igniting something between the both of them. It’s like a ripple of magic, and she’s sure it’s worked because  _jesus_ , is he kissing her even harder now, his hooked arm wrapping tightly around her back as his hand trails down the side of her jaw, his thumb grazing her cheekbone in the process.

He’s grinning, she can feel the curve of his lips go upwards. “ _Emma_ ,” he breathes, pulling back slightly and resting his forehead against hers. “You’ve found us.”

She smiles, noticing how they’re still on the Jolly, but back by the Storybrooke docks. “Did you doubt me?”

“Never, darling,” he mumbles before lunging forward and capturing her lips again.

“Mama, papa!” Liam shouts, breaking them apart as he jumps toward the two of them.

Killian lifts the boy up with his one arm, smiling as he kisses him on the cheek. “Hey there, lad. Looks like your mother has returned to us.”

“Duh!”

Emma lets out a shaky breath, smiling at the view. Killian slides his hook across her back before resting it at her hip, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Should we check up on the others now that we’re back in Storybrooke?”

She doesn’t want to. She just wants to stand and be with these two for the moment, but she nods anyways.

* * *

Honestly, no matter how laid-back breaking that curse was, she’s pretty exhausted still. (And she sure as hell is in no state to figure out what happened in the first place.) Returning back to the house, once again stepping foot back on the slightly creaky porch, slipping the key through the lock of the wooden door, she’s greeted by a wave of nostalgia. Liam is out like a light, his head resting on Killian’s shoulder when they walk through the door.

She follows behind Killian after closing the door, watching him tuck the worn-out little boy of theirs into his bed. She smiles, leaning against the doorframe. She’s finally home. Everything is _perfect_. Relief, pure joy, utter happiness is all she really feels, and her eyelids are drooping. She nearly falls forward, stumbling on her feet before Killian catches her, wrapping his arm around her waist and supporting her, whispering, “Let’s get you to bed, love,” sweetly as usual, leading her into the bedroom not far away from Liam’s.

In the morning when Liam jumps into the room all full of energy again, she groans because god, as much as she’s missed this, she needs a bit of rest.

“Come on, Liam, your mother needs sleep from her Savior duties,” her husband says, ushering the child out of the room. He turns back and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll keep him occupied until you feel like getting out of bed, love.”

“Thanks,” she murmurs, smiling lazily. “I love you, but you better keep the hook away from him this time.”

He chuckles. “As you wish, my love.”


	28. portrays no justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** CS prompt: enchanted forest au "we've been engaged to be married since we were three but this is the first time we've met and your portraits really don't do you justice" (congrats on the 400, Casey!!!) - piratesails

Emma Swan of Misthaven. Heir to the throne. Princess Emma.

God damn does she hate those labels, those names, but she may as well put up with it because things are happening quickly around the land. Like, really quickly that she can’t even keep up with what’s circling around the castle as truths and rumours.

She knows she’s already been engaged with someone, some man called Killian Jones, a  _Prince_ from another land, but she sure as hell knows she’s not too interested about it. Though she aspires to find love, she doesn’t want to find it from being betrothed to a man she doesn’t know. Sure, she’s seen paintings of him, but is there something that’s supposed to tug her in? Because she is definitely not feeling anything of the sort, and it worries her.

Her parents are literally, like  _literally_ the epitome of True Love, yet she’s not exactly in favour of finding her True Love. She’s attempted questioning it before, but it’s never really turned out to be a pleasant conversation, especially not on her end. With the babbling about her mother trying to convince her otherwise, and the support her father gives her, she’s unbalanced in terms of ever negotiating something else. So, she does what she can, just to accept her fate and let this all roll out.

Nagging, nagging and more nagging is what she hears the following morning she wakes up from sleep, that this Killian Jones is supposed to be arriving within the next couple of hours, and honestly, she’s just as nervous as she probably should be. She doesn’t know what he’ll think of her, or what she’ll think of him. It’s simple, yet naïve wonders in her mind.

_What if he’s some stuck-up royal?_

_What if he hates me, and I hate him just as much?_

“You’ve sort of had this entire marriage planned since you were a baby,” her father, David, informs her, smiling. “But not to worry, I’m sure you two will get along just fine.”

“Easy for you to say,” she mutters under her breath, sighing.

It is  _killing_ her brain with all this anticipation - including nervousness and being slightly excited to meet him. Then again, she’s 22, has been basically trapped in a castle for all of her life, coddled and loved and cared for by every single person around… so yes, she’s excited to see someone new, a fresh face that she will probably bore of eventually.

Little does she know she’d expect…  _him_ to be that handsome. Things are not going to be simple now.

* * *

The first time he introduces himself formally as, “Killian Jones” to her parents, her heart simply stutters because he has an accent, and yeah, that simply makes  _everything_ harder - she is literally frightened of saying a single word.

Her parents are the most gracious hosts ever, and Emma can’t help but roll her eyes and nearly face-palm, sighing hopelessly at how kind and welcoming they are. (“He’s royalty too, Dad, I think you’re overdoing it,” she hisses to David at some point.) She’s positive they must be overwhelming him with such an entrance here, but she just stands by and watches before he starts to introduce himself to her, and yes, she’s totally chill and fine, and  _okay_. (Biggest possible lie ever.)

Killian’s smile is charming, sweet, real, it’s almost as if it’s just for her, and she knows that’s a lie, that he must smile like that to everyone because he’s a bloody Prince, of course he smiles like that. But there’s something there behind his eloquent blue eyes, shimmering with something besides happiness and joy, and perhaps he’s just as possibly (somewhat) unenthusiastic about this too. She’ll never blame him on that, but her parents push him away toward her, urging him to talk to her, to  _woo_ her, and she just wants to shout that she’s here and listening to everything, but she decides against that. (It’s just that she doesn’t want to be left alone with the handsome man where his portraits really don’t live up to the real reputation here.)

Under the sunlight in the garden where it shines on his skin, making him appear golden, she notices all of his youthful glow, a man, who must be no older than her by a year or two. He has an appropriate amount of scruff and a small scar on his cheek, and she wonders of the story behind it. Instead of neglecting all of the possibilities of being this man’s love, she decides to consider it anyways. Maybe it won’t be as bad as it is. He’s attractive, well-mannered, and was definitely raised properly.

They link arms and they only walk in silence, just enjoying the rather beautiful weather outside. She begins to grow more comfortable being around him, no longer that frightened.It’s him to start the conversation though, he who breaks the silence between them. “You know, I was not particularly keen on hearing the news that I was being married off to a Princess in a close kingdom when I was first old enough,” he tells her honestly. “Were you, well, perhaps the same? Thinking that all of this is just a setup and nothing else?”

She takes a second to think of her answer, something both honest, yet hopefully not upsetting. “Yes, of course that’s how I felt at first. Hearing it from your parents when you’re first old enough to understand, anticipating the worse, thinking that it’s like your deadliest nightmare…” she trails off, shaking her head as she remembers the childish thoughts when she was first a young teenage girl. “I think I might have over-exaggerated myself back then.”

He laughs, and that sound makes her want to laugh too. It’s somewhat warming, something she can definitely get used to if she allows herself. “Aye, definitely exaggerated,” he agrees. “So, _Emma_ , if you’d allow me to call you that, what are your hobbies?”

Just the use of her name, without the  _Princess_ or  _Your Majesty_ , makes her grin. “Honestly? I’m not even sure about my own hobbies because I’ve always been so set in place to do… well the typical duties of a woman, or a Princess. Never had that much freedom, unfortunately.”

“Very unfortunate, lass,” he concurs. “So, you’ve never been out of the castle limits?”

She scoffs. “Hardly, I suppose. When I have, it was just me tagging along on diplomatic missions my parents had to complete. Or, a few rides around the permitted land,” she explains sadly. “How about you?”

“Well, I’ve had the luck to go out, but I’m glad I’ve had such opportunities,” he says. “I’ve met you, and I think that can be considered a successful outing.”

Unsure of if she’s blushing or not, she stops as he follows and she just looks at him in disbelief. “Really now?”

“Aye,” he breathes out, giving her a toothy grin. “Forgive me for my forwardness, but you are far more beautiful than any woman I’ve laid my eyes on, and from what I’ve learned of my little time with you, Emma, is that you’re a lovely lass with plenty of potential and desire for some pent up adventure away from the royal life,” he compliments, meaning every word of it because she’ll be damned if she can’t trust him now. “I’ll admit, I’d seen plenty of portraits painted of you back in my kingdom, but none measure up to… well, the  _real_ you.”

“Should I be concerned that you’re pulling out all of your charming remarks already?” she jokes casually, a bright smile dancing across her face.

He smirks, leaning in past her ear and whispering, “Perhaps, darling.”

Maybe this marriage isn’t going to be that bad. Especially if he’s going to continue doing… whatever the hell he _is_ doing.

* * *

She learns that he’s not too difficult to tolerate, at least not while he’s trying to purposely annoy her just to get on her nerves. They end up spending more time together, and eventually, he just literally has a room not far off from hers. He takes her riding, her father approving with a raised eyebrow and small smile forming on his lips. She ignores that a lot of the time.

Killian has granted more of her wishes than anyone else in the world, and she wonders why, why did she not meet him sooner? But god, she doesn’t care about that now, not while he’s making her happy and enjoying her life while she unknowingly starts falling in love with him slowly, herself being oblivious to the feeling. (Let’s be honest, she’s never experienced much love besides what her parents offer.)

He continues to compliment her beauty, and she does the same in return one day. He chuckles and presses a kiss to her cheek, taking her hand and pulling her out of the castle to the garden, finding a quiet spot to stare up at the skies. They stay there for hours straight, only watching the clouds float past them, or they discuss quietly of their childhood stories. He tells her tales of the world and it’s definitely intriguing, but she can only have so much fun and talking for one day before she drifts off on his shoulder, a smile glued onto her face as she falls into a slumber.

Waking up in her bed after remembering her day with Killian makes her smile.

* * *

When time nears to the wedding (months and months of work and time), she more anxious she gets, and it seems like Killian feels the same. He hugs her often, mumbling some words of reassurance to her, and when he’s not saying anything, he gives her silent support from the distance. Getting dresses fitted is more tiring than it should be, plus, she’s craving to spend some more personal time with  _him_.

Later on that night, she’s standing on her balcony, looking up at the stars after an exhausting day of preparations for the marriage. She takes a deep breath just as a pair of arms slip around her waist, his hot breath at the side of her neck. She smiles, because he’s been doing this more often. Sneaking into her room, surprising her, doing all sorts of things that make her truly happy. She’s never expected something arranged to be this amusing, but it sure as hell doesn’t seem like a mistake anymore. Definitely not her worst nightmare either.

“How was your day, darling?”

“Horrible? Good? Whatever, it’s better now that you’re here,” she responds, turning around and looking up at him. “I’ve never stood for so long in my life, Killian.”

“Should I sweep the lovely fiancée off of her feet and into bed?” he murmurs, leaning his forehead down against hers, bumping noses gently.

She grins, pushing forward to brush her lips against his gently. “Would be appreciated.”

“As the lady desires,” he grunts, bending down and picking her up, causing her to suppress her laughter as he brings her back, plopping her down onto the bed.

She closes her eyes. “Stay with me?”

“ _Always_.”

It’s a good sleep being in his arms.

* * *

Weddings are far more overrated than she’d anticipated, but still…  _nervous_ is not replaced by any other possible feeling pumping through her veins as she’s standing in front of him in a fancy, large dress (that is still suffocating her, mind you). Everyone that has attended is mostly family, close friends and loyal members to the King and Queen, with some from Killian’s kingdom as well.

The vows exchanged are more than words. They’re promises. Something they both swear to keep dear to their hearts, things they will follow, things they will believe in until the very end. Each phrase uttered out on her part are just the same as his, but he apparently found himself some other way to word it into something far more sophisticated and sweet, and why does he  _always_ have to be like this? He’s too much for her, but god, she can’t believe she’s been engaged with this man since she was  _three_.

When he kisses her with the utmost passion and desire and  _love_ , she knows, knows from hell and back that her father was right. They do work well together; through the ups and downs.

“You just get more and more beautiful each day, love,” he murmurs after the kiss, locking his eyes with hers. “We should exterminate paintings and those in the profession, they don’t express nearly as enough beauty as they should.”

She laughs, shaking her head. She knows everyone is crying tears of happiness, because honestly, who would’ve seriously thought they would actually fall in love? Snow is crying, and David is _trying_ not to cry, even though he’s doing a horrible job at covering up his ‘manly’ tears of joy for her little girl growing up into a great woman.

“At least you get to see the real me everyday,” she retorts, smirking as he takes her hand and tugs her down the middle of the crowded ballroom. “Besides, we’re married, which makes us practically inseparable when you think about it. I remembered when I first saw a painting of you and I thought you were just another normal suitor or something.”

“Haha,” he sarcastically laughs.

“What?” she feigns, raising an eyebrow. “Doesn’t matter though, I mean, you’re much more attractive in the flesh as well. I was too scared to even talk to you when we first met, to be honest.”

“So you did fancy me back then,” he mumbles, dragging her into the room and sealing it the door shut behind them. “Fancied my dashingly handsome appearance so much that I’d had rendered you into a state of fear?”

“You make me sound pathetic.”

“Hardly,” he says, grinning devilishly. He tugs on her arms, pulling her flush against him. “Do you know how much I love you, Emma?”

Narrowing her eyes, she replies, “No, that’s precisely why we just got married.”

He groans at her sarcasm. “I didn’t think we’d ever fall in love, but look at us now, love. We are clearly smitten with each other, but I wouldn’t have it any other way,  _wife_.” He earns a laugh out of her just as he leans forward and presses his lips against hers, moving slowly and gently, relaying his happiness through it.

(“Just for the record, I love you just as much, too,” she whispers against his chest in the middle of the night when she’s tucked under his chin.)


	29. when the ball drops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read some boxing (gym) AU, and then I watched a basketball anime, and all of a sudden this became a thing.

Losing has been constant in his entire lifetime, and the first time he wins, everything feels quite ethereal around him.

 

There’s loud cheering from the crowd and a heavy weight is lifted off of his shoulders. It’s an odd sense of happiness, quite foreign to his own mind and body. He realizes, quite definitely, that it’s not just cheering from the crowd, it’s cheering from his entire team - the team he’s been working his ass off with for the past couple of months, attempting to get into finals.

 

They’re still far from finals of course, but they’ve taken a step forward winning their first match by a longshot. Perhaps it’s luck, perhaps it’s destiny, but whatever it is, he’s happy, happy because he won, and that, in itself, is a big enough accomplishment. For all his life, he’s been losing, losing to people stronger and taller and far more talented than him. But for once, this once, it’s a change. He knows better than to give himself any false hope, but at least his own morale is still steady.

 

He wishes, however, that his brother was here to see the game. That he could see the success he’s pulled off. He’s only a freshman in high school on the juniors team, but he started basketball back when he was little, maybe around grade six. He was still never good at it - at least, not until now. Not until his actual potential started to somehow flow out of him on the court back in grade eight. It’s no wonder why people ask him several questions of his sudden outburst of victory. There was plenty of small media coverage on the middle school team he was on, and nearly every match, he barely walked off the court with a strong face.

 

There is a decency of politeness in these reporters voice, asking him questions. This and that, blah blah blah, yeah, he’s not one for media coverage though.

 

There’s a push at his back, and he finds it’s David, who is one year his senior, pushing him toward the bench to grab his stuff. “Don’t humiliate us, Jones.”

 

Killian’s never been the most outgoing person. He’s sort of reserved to himself, paying attention to his studies and basketball hobby. “Sorry, Captain,” he mumbles with a small smile, knowing David is only teasing him.

 

“Come on, let’s get out of here before the next game begins. We can celebrate then.”

 

“Aye,” he huffs, slinging his towel over his shoulder and downing some water.

 

The change in the locker room is full of chatter and smiling, however Killian keeps to himself, slipping his jersey off for his t-shirt, sweater, but keeps his shorts on. Robin whacks him on the head, grinning at him, and he nods in response. It’s weird. Being actually appreciated, apart of the team, recognized by his friends on the team. (Never fully recognized. He has his own secrets to keep.)

 

While everyone is still busy talking, he slips out of the room with some spare change to the vending machine, grabbing himself another drink. Water is nice and all, but he always needs something with a little more spice to up his game and stamina.

 

“Hey, Killian!”

 

He hears the drink clink at the bottom, but he turns around to find Emma smiling and running toward him down the hall. “Swan… hey.”

 

“Congrats on the win,” she says sincerely, her eyes sparkling of her green. He’s always found that stunning about her. “It’s… been the first win for the Storybrooke Sharks junior basketball team for awhile now. You were great on court.”

 

 _It’s my first win too._ “I - uh, thanks,” he stutters, itching a spot behind his ear. “It was nothing, really.”

 

“You’re kidding me right? You’re faster than about half the people on the other team,” she compliments, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Most people are wondering if you’re a niner.”

 

He’s really touched by all this, and he’s sure he’s screwing up by talking to her, to even accept these sort of words of appreciation from anyone. “I just… train… often,” is his short, pathetic answer.

 

“Well, it’s paying off. You better help the rest of the team get to finals. Everyone’s been wanting it far longer than you. Even the seniors are trying their hardest this year,” she explains. “But I gotta go before I get ditched by the bus. Once again, congrats on the win. See ya!”

 

“Bye, lass,” he murmurs, watching her speed off down the hallway again.

 

Emma Swan is interesting - intriguing all the while, but he’s never known her much. He’s seen her around, talked to her a couple of times during class, and then there was that one time they were paired for an English project on Twelfth Night by Shakespeare. Friends is the only word describing them, and that’s perfectly fine with him.

 

He turns around and bends down, picking up the can from the vending machine. Opening it, he chugs the entire thing quickly, and he suddenly remembers Liam. He’s all the way in the Navy by now, he doesn’t have time to see how he’s doing anymore. He wishes he could though, because Liam’s always been the one encouraging him toward everything, the one helping him excel at his grades and improving in his basketball skills. But, he’s busy at camps, working, not having that much available time to ever pay visits on occasions which is unfortunate.

 

He crushes the can with his hand, the crinkling of the metal between his hands. Heaving a breath, he chucks the thing into the recycling before heading back to the locker room where everyone is probably wondering where he’s disappeared off to. The moment he steps through the door, Robin hits the back of his head, shouting at him for leaving so suddenly without uttering a word to anyone of his departure to get a drink. Promptly apologizing, he grabs his dufflebag and follows behind the rest of his teammates to head back home.

 

The ride back on the bus is loud and they’re probably making the bus driver dizzy from their talking, but Killian stays silent and stares out the window. The green of the tree reminds him of her eyes and the yellow of the sunlight reminds him of her hair. He’s never had a crush before, far from one, in fact, but he’s fairly certain this is just temporary because of the fact she compliment his skills and abilities.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He’s far from done. The gym is locked after usual practice time, which is a downside. He decides to spend his time playing ball outside at the playground where there’s two hoops, working on his aim. Other than that, he runs laps around the school field, practically dying for breath by the end of it. He tends to overwork himself, he knows that, but he’s persevering because this is his future, this is what he wants to do for the rest of his life, or until something officially stops him. As long as he can do it, he’ll keep doing it without anyone stopping him.

 

Lifting the hem of his shirt and wiping his sweat (smart of him to forget his towel on such a day), he catches some other people hanging around the school. They seem as if they’re gossiping, and before any of them can see Killian, he rounds the corner and hides there for a second, still trying to catch his breath after the six laps he ran around the large field.

 

_“They say that Killian guy works harder on the basketball team than anyone else. Even the Captain, David.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Yeah. Brandon said he saw him running laps outside until he would drop. If that isn’t impressive dedication, I don’t know what is. He’s gonna be the key to leading our juniors to finals this year.”_

_“But he’s only a first year.”_

_“Doesn’t matter, he’s good. Maybe Storybrooke will finally have a couple of victories written into the history books now.”_

 

He can’t say he’s glad that they’re putting so much faith in him because that is a tonne of faith to put in him. A big burden on his shoulders. But if there’s one thing he knows, he’s got the drive to win again, even if it’s once more.

 

By the time he’s home, Tink bombards him with congratulations. His cousin is just crazy. “I’ll tell you later,” he mumbles, rushing up the stairs and into his room, closing the door quietly behind him as he sets his bag down, dropping onto his bed.

 

He needs to shower, but his calves are burning still, and he knows he should tone it down a bit, but he never really does because that’s what he always strives for. Running a hand through his hair, he huff a large breath out of his nose, closing his eyes for a second. They don’t say no pain, no gain for no reason.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They keep fighting on during the matches, and it appears that they’re on a streak of winning. That’s good because no one on the team wants to be sent home yet. No one wants to be eliminated yet. He’s cautious and observant on his own moves, making sure he passes at the right moment, making sure he makes plays that ensures a couple of points or gives his teammates the chance to score. Will high-fives him on the way back from the other side of the court. David pats his shoulders, and Robin says, “Good one, mate.” He’s got a good team on his side.

 

He catches sight of her in the bleachers with her friends, particularly David’s crush, Mary Margaret and Victor’s, Ruby. Suddenly, he has the urge to win - more than before. Turning his head back to the game, he waves his hands at Robin, who does an overhand pass into the air, but it’s slightly too far for him to jump in time. Clenching his jaw, he backpedals five steps before he reaches one hand up to catch the ball, letting his other one follow shortly after, giving him the chance to charge forward. And though he finds himself in possession of the ball, he’s not in possession to storm forward any further when someone decides to block him - quite thoroughly too.

 

Sighing, he quickly figures out this guys quirks of shifting left and right on one foot, simply pivoting in the same pattern whenever Killian tries to move left or right. His eyes dart around until he notices David come up behind the man in front of him, and with a quick shove of the ball, it goes right in between his legs. “Predictable,” he mutters as he takes off, sprinting toward his right again, switching gears immediately in case another one of his teammates need backup.

 

Turns out they don’t, because Robin gets a nice three-pointer in just as the buzzer goes for the third quarter. They’re still barely keeping up their score though - they need something to pull ahead to ensure their victory a bit more.

 

“We’re at seventy-three to sixty-eight. We’re only five points ahead and we need to keep our lead in order to win the next eight minutes of the last quarter,” David states, taking a drink from his water. “Okay, we’ll keep up our defensive screening for the time being. Besides that, when it comes down to the last two minutes of the match, send all your balls to Jones. He’ll be able to figure out whether to pass or shoot when he gets it. If he passes to you, it’s up to you to make the decision. If not, we have plenty of guaranteed shots he can make himself. Alright?”

 

“Dave, are you -”

 

“Jones, calm down. You can do it.” He punches a fist into his chest gently, but still with a bit of force. “Besides, you’re like the ace of this team, whether you like it or not.”

 

Scrunching his brows together, he blinks a couple of times in complete surprise before he nods at his orders. Ace. Interesting role to play, even at his age.

 

“Come on, Killian, do as David said. If you’re the ace of this team, you’re supposed to lead us to victory, to look ahead… and you’ve been doing that since the moment you stepped foot into the Storybrooke gym for tryouts.” Robin throws a towel over Killian’s head. “We’re still far off from finals given that there’s still at least four more matches to go. Make them count.”

 

He nods. “Okay.”

 

Back on court, he once again, finds himself glancing to find the familiar blonde hair. She seems to make direct eye contact with him this time and she smiles at him, giving him a thumbs up. He mouths his thanks to her, smiling too, before focusing at the start of the last quarter.

 

The opposing team is trying to make a final push, and it’s even killing Killian’s physical ability himself, but he still has plenty of energy left for the game. With all this new adrenaline from the faith and trust of his teammates, with his friend out there watching and encouraging him too, he’s got to win. He’s got to win for the team, his friends, his brother.

 

He struggles to get past this one guy, he’s tall and pushy, the sound of sneakers squeaking against the wooden, laminated floor. Letting out a deep breath to calm his nerves, dribbling the ball out of his current reach, his eyes scan the court. He’s not in any sort of position to pass, and that’s an issue because he technically cannot be this person in terms of height. Falling back one step he lifts his hand quickly with the ball, keeping his eyes trained on the hoop as he follows through, letting the ball slip through his hands. The shadow of the guy in front of him falls before the ball is thrown luckily. His weight drops him down faster than he had the chance to block.

 

He misses the shot, and he knew he would, but the rebound shot is what’s part of his plan to get some points. Will manages to get possession of the ball, getting it in just before someone’s capable of stopping him.

 

“You purposely missed the shot…” the guy in front of his murmurs, looking at him. “You’re good.”

 

“I try,” Killian responds modestly, shrugging.

 

“Even though we’ll probably lose, at least we’ll lose to a strong team.” The guy smiles at him and jogs off back to his side of the court before Killian even has the chance to thank him for his comment.

 

_At least we’ll lose to a strong team._

 

That’s going to resonate in his mind for awhile.

 

Shaking his head, he turns his head to check the timer. There’s still two minutes, and that means everyone’s going to be trying to get the ball to him now. He’s got plenty of coordinated plays with Robin and David, so this shouldn’t be a big issue for him if it’s those two that are open. Other than that, he can at least improvise between Will and Victor if it’s necessary.

 

Nothing is polished perfect on their plays together, he knows that, but they’ve been working together for months, months before the basketball season even started, so they’re far more prepared than most others.

 

In most cases, they don’t need to say a word to each other on the court. It’s to the point that they can make simple eye contact or movements that induce enough of a hint for one or the other to know the next play off heart. Catching his breath while he walks his way across court, dribbling the ball, he notices they’re ahead by seven points, but he wants one more shot to guarantee it still. Robin is screening one of the defense, Victor is in the middle waiting for any possible rebounds, and Will is outside being guarded because they seem to fear another three-pointer.

 

He’s got to give it to the opposing team, they have fiery, they have strength, they have the drive to win. But between David and Killian, there’s is even larger. Throwing the ball back over his head, it allows David to catch it and go for his own three-pointer. But one of them, they’re desperate, charging at David and just as he realizes it’ll be too late to shoot, he throws the ball at Robin who pushes it back with force to him once again, and he heads for a layup, landing a shot. Coordination. It really is their specialty.

 

“Nice going, Jones,” David says. “I didn’t want you to take all the glory, but it seems like the ball just had to end back into your hands.”

 

He chuckles. “Wherever the ball goes, I go, mate.”

 

“Good, because that ball is going to be going everywhere within this last minute.”

 

The tension is off the charts.

 

 

* * *

 

 

As the buzzer goes off, Killian throws his head back and closes his eyes, feeling the beads of sweat trickle down his face and onto his neck. Will throws his arm around his shoulders, making Killian stumble forward at the sudden contact.

 

“Brilliant plays, mate.”

 

He sighs. “Thanks, Scarlet. Same to you.”

 

The chanting behind him gives him more spirit.

 

However, the more his team relies on him to make good setups and plays, the harder it is for him to make a decision in the nick of time. There’s a load of pressure that comes with being a good player on the first string for the team, but he’s honored enough to get to play with a bunch of great people. It’s fun and exhilarating, and he’s sure he’ll never get bored of it.

 

“Hey, just keep doin’ what you’re doin’ and stop worrying, would ya? We’re your teammates, not your burden. You can rely on us too,” Will assures him, walking off the court next to him.

 

“How’d you…?”

 

Will shrugs, getting a drink. “You’re easy to read, besides, you’ve been doin’ quite a bit of work for the team recently, don’t ya think?” He sets his water down. “Now come on, go line up behind David so we can end this already and go home.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He talks to her more often, especially during their English period together twice a week. And for some reason, she starts to observe him whenever he’s practicing out on his own. He doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t press her for answers. All she does is simply watch and help him. She helps him set up pylons or little obstacles, or she simply hands him his water bottle and spare change of clothes by the end of the day. He’s thankful for her help, because besides having the thrill of wind going against his face when he runs, or the fun he feels from holding the ball, she gives him something to look forward to.

 

As his thanks, he helps her with whatever she’s struggling in, and it seems that math is her weakness. He gladly tutors her when he’s not busy with his own work from classes. Sometimes, it’s lunch studies sessions, or even after school when neither of them have nothing significant to attend or actually do. He learns she can be just as persistent and strong headed as he can be.

 

"Why do you play basketball so seriously?" she asks one day, handing him a towel and water.

 

He shrugs. "My passion, perhaps. For the people I care about."

 

Emma nods curtly before following back inside, going the opposite way down the hall and saying goodbye. He appreciates her lack of prying for information, because even he recognizes there's a bit of sadness behind her eyes at certain times. They understand each other in ways others cannot, whether they like it or not. It's just an interesting connection shared between them.

 

Sometimes, he’ll play around with her, teaching her to dribble the ball, how to follow through with a shot to the net and so on. She reminds him a little bit about himself from years ago when he first started, still wobbly on the knees, but getting the hang of it fast. It’s fun, and that’s what matters to him too. Having fun with his friends, and being with Emma gives him that feeling coursing through his veins. Especially during matches when he remembers certain things like when she gets excited whenever she gets it in, or when they’re done and both on the pavement, trying to catch their breaths.

 

( _“Relax your arms, Swan. Don’t overthink anything otherwise you’ll miss the shot.”_

_“I’m trying.”_

_“Stop trying, and just do it.”)_

_(“You run laps all the time, I seriously can’t keep up with you.”_

_“Perhaps you should run with me next time?”_

_“Maybe.”_

_He smiles._ )

 

She gives him all the more reason to win.

 

When they keep winning, he keeps practicing, pushing himself past his own limits. Sometimes, he's gloomier than usual because he realizes the lack of enthusiasm or motivation from Emma. Sometimes she's late, and if he asks if everything's okay, she shrugs and insists she's fine. He knows she's not, but he doesn't want to press for any information out of her. He knows better than to pester someone when they're not having their best days.

 

"I'll be okay. Just watching you work hard makes my day better."

 

He smiles, nodding. Of course it's not the answer he's looking for, but its much better than anything or any excuse she's made before. "Then I'll work harder and fight more just to see you smile more often. Deal?" He sticks his hand out, and when she takes it with a small smile, he couldn't be happier. It's a deal, a promise he's willing to fight for, something he's willing to keep dear to his heart.

 

“Deal.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Things take a turn too quickly for him. He gets appointed to be Captain, and the only thing running through his mind is: “Why?”

 

David smiles and nods, and when they get back to practice, he stands there confused as he watches all the others grab a basketball to work on their shooting and dribbling. It’s far too sudden, too make to take in at once that, okay, here you go, you’re Captain of the junior basketball team now. Pressure, it’s a lot of pressure.

 

Later when he’s shoving his textbooks into his locker, David approaches him.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hey,” he mumbles back, closing his locker.

 

“So how’s being Captain for a change?” he asks, setting his hands on his hips. “Overwhelming?”

 

Killian shrugs, locking his lock. “Slightly… but why did you have Coach make me Captain?”

 

“My mom, she’s been sick. I can’t handle so many things on my plate at once, and I don’t know if we’ll get to finals. I’m sure we can do it, but if… anything happens during the match, I’d honestly throw it all away to be by her side,” David explains, his voice quiet, the complete opposite of his usual loudness. “And you’re the only one who works hard enough, who knows strategically how the team can work. You deserve the position.”

 

He knows the feeling, well, at least he comprehends David’s reasoning behind it. If his brother was sick, he’d probably react the same way. Basketball is important… but family, that’s bigger. And from what he knows, his mother is the only family he has, just as Liam is the only family Killian has left.

 

“Best regards to your mother’s sickness and recovery, then,” Killian quietly mumbles, reaching for his bag on the floor. “But you’re still important to the team… just, play for as long as you can. I want to make our next couple of years worth the memory.”

 

“Yeah. I know.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Finals, they actually made it to finals. He doesn't know how they did it, but they did it, so spare the details and analytical portion of anything. It’s not going to be easy to win this one though.

 

“Win it or lose it, guys,” David says.

 

“Indeed,” Killian murmurs, tying his shoelaces just at the perfect spot. “Stick to our first plan, guys. If anything, fall back to Plan B if they push our buttons too far.”

 

They all nod and shout something, a jumble of voices as they disperse to their spots on the court. It’s a larger crowd than usual, the sides lines up with several spectators - some familiar faces, some unfamiliar faces. Unfortunately, this is not a home game and it’s during class time so people from school aren’t there to support him. Like Emma.

 

He notices their Coach smiling, then winking at him. Even he has put the faith on Killian’s shoulders, and really, this is just pushing him to play harder and harder.

 

But it’s no use when their opponents are far more superior than what they’ve gone up against before. Sure, there have been individuals that have been a real pain before, but this is the entire team of determined individuals who have a true sense of knowing what they’re doing on court, bringing in a tense atmosphere and sense of intimidation. It’s not like anything Killian’s ever faced before, and the more he thinks about it, the more his plays start lacking speed.

 

Robin hits him on the back of the head as they run back, switching to their defensive positions. “Stop thinking. Play!” he shouts.

 

It does some good work to bring him out of whatever he was thinking before. Now, he feels far more motivated to win. This, this is it, and if he can’t win this, how many chances is he going to get? How many opportunities will approach him, such as this one? He needs to win. For Emma, David, Liam, the entire team and school. If it’s pride, he needs it. If it’s loyalty, he owns it. If it’s fun, he has it.

 

The pace of the game is quick, and at this rate, he’s going to need that break sooner than later. Panting, he watches the ball as it falls into David’s hands, sprinting toward the other side and abruptly stopping, taking a small jump and letting the ball fly into the air. A three-pointer is exactly what they need. He smiles, shaking his head, before getting back into the game properly. The next time David tries for his habitual three-pointer, he has to drop it down back to Killian so he can weave in between the players charging at him for a simple layup.

 

Though, that doesn’t go well. The guy behind him intentionally shoves him lightly, and his head nearly hits the pole as he falls sideways, the ball dropping out of his hands. The referee blows his whistle, calling for a foul play and for Killian to take two shots from the line. He brushes himself off as Will offers him a hand, taking it and standing back up. He usually does not hold much hatred for anyone, but he despises those that go for physical contact such as that, to try and win.

 

He bounces the ball twice before taking the shot. It’s close to missing, a little bit off his usual trajectory, but his body is still adjusting after that fall. It still goes in after circling the rim a couple of times, everyone practically on the edge of their seats waiting for the ball to go in our out.

 

The next shot goes in flawlessly, and he sighs of relief, closing his eyes for the slightest second before everyone begins to play again, feet shuffling across the floor in a flutter of a mess.

 

When they’re at half-time, everyone reaches for the water. The score is literally neck to neck. When one scores, the other scores all the same. It’s at 67 - 69. They’re behind by two points, but that can easily be caught up with.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They don’t win. They lose at a 104 - 99.

 

Everyone walks off court quietly, eyes casted downwards at the floor once formalities are exchanged. No one says a word, but Killian tries to keep himself strong. It’s soul-crushing, heartbreaking, and probably the worst defeat they’ve had in ages.

 

He’s already been quite used to the notion of victory, the moment he loses, the memories of his past failures all come flooding back to him. Sighing as he swaps his shoes, he stands up to glance at all the others in the room.

 

“We played our best,” he begins, “and that’s what matters. We still have a chance next year.”

 

“Yeah…” the twelve people in the room murmur.

 

“Stop being so glum, mates. We got second place, and it may not seem like the best position, but we got far, we put Storybrooke High on a decent streak. We had fun. If you’re going to sulk around in tears over one loss, even if it was finals, then you clearly don’t understand the definition of other opportunities.” He runs a hand through his hair, shrugging. “It’s no ones fault. We played a difficult match against them, and the score difference wasn’t large. Be proud that we got this far.”

 

Everyone seems to let their shoulders fall a little bit, nodding. The mood’s been lifted slightly, and it’s better than before by tenfold. David pats his shoulder with a nod, whispering that he’s done a good job as a Captain.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Everyone’s left by now, but Killian hasn’t. His belongings are left untouched in the corner on the bench. Falling to his knees, his hands curl up into a fist, slamming it onto the locker on his way down. “Damn it,” he hisses, the tears forming at the edge of his eyes. He wanted to win. He failed his team, his friends, his family.

 

The room is dark since they had shut the lights off earlier, and he prefers it. As much fun as basketball is with his team, as much as he enjoys it with his own burning passion, losing is never the ideal notion.

 

“I wanted to win… for everyone,” he mutters to himself, pressing his head harder against the metal of the lockers.

 

“I know.”

 

He perks up at the voice, slowly turning his head to see Emma standing behind him with a smile. “Emma?”

 

“Hey,” she murmurs, offering him a hand.

 

Slowly uncurling his fingers, he takes her hand and she pulls him up. “What… are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at school?” he asks, rubbing the vacant tears on his face.

 

She shrugs. “Does that matter?” She smirks.

 

Chuckling, a little bit too breathy for his own liking, he shakes his head. “I suppose not. But how did you know I would be here?”

 

“David,” she answers. “Look, you tried your hardest, you had the most motivation and spirit out of everyone, and you still had fun in the end. As much as losing is painful, think of what you’ve gained too, okay? Friendships, experiences...”

 

He smiles and sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Aye. You’re right, I just… a major loss on me, Swan.”

 

For at least one moment, he feels like he’s got at least one thing - person - that will stay constant in his life. No amount of basketballs rolling out of bounds or airballs will equate to what the friendship he gets to have with Emma Swan.

 

 

* * *

 

 

(In his last year when he’s out of breath and standing there, staring at the scoreboard with their victory on display to everyone, he can hardly move.

 

When he gets back to school, he finds Emma waiting by the tree, their tree, a grin across her face because she apparently knows that they’ve won. It’s no wonder considering the thirteen of them are smiling and laughing because of it.

 

Once everyone’s inside, going to grab everything they need to go home, he falls forward and presses his lips firmly against her, their noses bumping when their change angles. He’s smiling like a complete idiot because over three years, he’s fallen completely in love with Emma Swan, and his love for basketball has only started to grow even more because of her.

 

“We won,” he whispers, letting his forehead rest gently against hers.

 

“I know.”

 

“I love you.”

 

She smiles. “And I love you, too.”

 

He knows that the moment that ball dropped at the buzzer, he would return home happy. _Her_.)

 

 


	30. the princess and the sailor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Perhaps a Lieutenant Duckling fic? Something super fluffy would be wonderful. - the-savior-and-the-pirate

Loneliness... he struggled a bit with that darkness inside of him when his mother first passed. But, when his brother, Liam, insisted on joining the King and Queen of Misthaven's Navy, there was another doubt growing inside of him. Begrudgingly, he's always been quite the stubborn child, but when it comes to Liam, well, Killian does just about everything he can to please his older brother. He's the only family member he has left, thus, he's the only person he can truly love, cherish, and look up to. At least, that's how everything had been planned to go before he met Princess Emma.

 

That's when the loneliness makes haste out of him. Emma may be a Princess, may be some sort of loyalty, but the first time they meet due to his brother's allegiance with the King and Queen, they click straight away. The both of them smile, and though they are young and dumb, they both seem to have the same idea when it comes to what is sprouting between them. A _true_ friendship.

 

He learns of her true desires, the small things or the big, the things unable to be granted to her because whatever lies within this castle, that is her limit; that is all she can really ever hold onto.  He knows better, even at his age, to feel pity for this girl, this adolescent who cannot have more fun and freedom. So, of course at his own measures, all he really does is wish, one day, that she'll be out of the restrictions that she's been born into.  And when her parents are too busy with some other diplomatic mission or new meeting, she sneaks outside to the castle gardens to meet with him where he tells her stories of the life he's got with himself and Liam. He knows better than to get involved with the bloody Princess, but she wants a friend, and if that's what she wants from him, that's what he'll settle for. Whatever it takes to see her smile, whatever it takes to at least set her one more inch freer than the reins of her parent's rules.

 

Liam tells him to stop visiting, and even then when he clenches the muscle in his jaw and stares at his brother straight in the eyes, he can never obey him when it comes to Emma. When he first met Emma, she had a sense of loneliness to her, something he's been familiarized with - an old interior demon of a foe. Perhaps his brother should find another way, because Killian is not going to stop visiting Emma, not on his brother's account. If anything, it'll be her to tell him off. Only when she doesn't want to see him anymore (and he dreads for that day if it ever does happen to become reality), will he stop visiting. However at the moment, when she tells him, "You make me happy," he will not stop sneaking out to go see her in the middle of the night, or at the crack of dawn, because really, who's he to deny the Princess - _Emma_ \- her true desires of happiness? No one. Not him, not Liam, not her parents or the people she converses with.

 

But just as she grows with time, so does he, and soon enough, he's following shortly behind his brother's footsteps, becoming apart of the Navy. And against his own thoughts, he finds out that Emma is not quite satisfied with his loyalty to the King and Queen. Albeit she's not terribly happy about what is now becoming his future, he tries his best to comfort her, to tell her that everything will be better soon, that when he returns to her, it'll be on a triumphant term.

 

"How could you leave me?" she asks quietly, staring up into the starry, night sky, the array of bright dots shining with the crescent of the moon not far off in the corner.

 

Smiling sadly at the softness of her voice, he sighs. "I am not leaving you, Emma. I am merely going on to serve under your parents. It's what Liam wants, what my mother would have wanted, and what I want, too," he answers with genuine thoughts. "Nothing - not your parents or the end of the world - could ever truly separate me from you. When I discovered that you were in dire need of someone, a friend, I had every intention of becoming that person, and I will always have that intention."

 

"You promise you'll come back, right? Right back to the place where we first started to meet? And then you can tell me about your adventures out at sea... right?"

 

His heart simply aches at the sense of loss in her voice, or the way she speaks with a far more gentler tone than usual. He thinks, hoping he can come up with some words that will hopefully last forever in her heart and mind, because by all means, he is going to return to her. Nodding, he wraps an arm around her shoulders, his fingers grazing the bare skin that is left revealed from the dress. "Aye," is his simple response, hoping that this one word will be enough for her to hold onto hope, that nothing in the universe, in all the realms, will ever take him away from her. In the end, he will always come back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

As the ship sets off from port, he watches her figure grow smaller and smaller the further they sail away. He closes his eyes, letting the thoughts inside of him settle, before turning around with a grin and a pat on his back with his shoulder by Liam, his Captain.

 

Though he misses her dearly within the first couple of days out at sea, he must admit that the gentle rocking of the ship from the waves and the breeze that brushes by are all simple ways that can calm him inside. However, every moment he closes his eyes, there's always her at the front of his vision. There, is a reminder of her blonde hair flowing so elegantly in the wind, or the way her green eyes shimmer during the night time, to even where the moonlight casts a beautiful shadow on her features. For now, he'll just remember the warmth of her body against his on the coldest nights and the pleading look in her eyes every time he's unsure about what plan she wants to enact.

 

Stealing cookies and other foods from the kitchen is one of the dearest memories he'll ever hold that involves Emma, but frankly, it's the first time she kisses his cheek out of impulse that'll be forever ingrained into memory. He can still easily recall the way red rose to her cheeks and the tips of her ears, and the way she stumbled on her words because she was so nervous about what she had just done, she could hardly speak out about it. He remembers he laughed at her warmly before she started to laugh with him, and in moments, that little bit of a distance had been closed, and there was no longer any awkward air floating around and about. There was nothing that ever really broke them apart because at the least, everything that transpired between them had been much more of bonding time.

 

And if he doesn't return to her, not only will it break a promise he's made, it'll ruin everything he's been planning since the departure. In most cases, they would claim him to be daft, to be in _love_ with the bloody Princess of Misthaven, but no, not this time. He wants to confess his love for her, whether it's a foolish desire of his or not, he truly cares for her, loves her, cherishes her, thinks she is everything he'll ever need. As long as she remains as a memory, it'll suffice until he return back to the castle. He knows that soon, it'll be more than just a memory - it'll be reality.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After two months of being out at sea, he finally returns back to Misthaven, docking by the port closest to the castle. If he's being honest, he's yet to adjust his legs back to land mode because that's what being out at sea for awhile does. As much as that bothers him at the moment, he only has one thing on his mind, and by no means is he going to drop the subject because he's got to do so as soon as possible, before she gets paired off with some incompetent suitor unable to treat her the way a woman like Emma should be traded. There has been no news of her being married yet, or even engaged, and for now, that'll supply him just enough hope that he'll be able to be hers. It's not just a comprehension of his own feelings - he just wants her to know, whether they remain friends or not, whether their friendship is challenged to the highest heights of them all. Perhaps it'll be a failure, but he'll never know unless he really does try.

 

Killian is quite aware that this is challenging the remains of their relationship, but he knows that as much as he loves the sea and The Jewel of the Realm, that as much as he cares for his brother and would love to follow behind his footsteps, there is still an aspect missing in his life. A real _home_ , and that is the only feeling he's had when he was with Emma - by her side. There is no mistaking what he's felt to be the feeling of home, and the feeling of missing it while he was out at sea for the two months. His longing to see her beauty and hear her voice only tempted him even further, only convinced him even more that Emma is his home, and that there will be nothing ever like it again if he misses it.

 

Upon his return to the castle, he tells Liam everything, and though his approval would be nice, it's nothing of the sort that he needs. What he needs is just for his brother to understand what he feels, that this is love, and always will be, whether she hates him or not. And the lingering feeling of her touch on his skin, the remainder of the fragrance that he's been waiting to smell again, is not something remotely considered insane on his standards. Although Liam believes this may be the wrong decision to make, he still supports him all the same because just as all family that cares, he just wants him to be happy.

 

"I need to go somewhere else because it's not the place I promised to meet her at," he briefly explains as they approach the gates. "The moment we reacquaint ourselves with the King and Queen, I must go meet her elsewhere."

 

"And just how positive are you that you two will meet there?"

 

"It's a place for the both of us, and us only."

 

"Well, I suppose it's my turn to wish you luck."

 

 

* * *

 

 

It's not particularly the welcome he's expected, not that he's expected one at all, but it's with welcome arms and congratulations anyways.

 

The moment he gets to escape out of the palace confines, he does exactly just that, running to the point where there's no air left in his lungs to breathe calmly. And he's not mistaken when he's greeted with the figure of a woman standing idly, staring up at the stars.

 

"Emma," he huffs out, trying to catch his breath as he slowly walks over to her.

 

"Killian?"

 

He grins, his steps turning far quicker than they should before he wraps his arms around her, his nose pressed against the side of her neck. Not a single word is uttered between them during the embrace, only soaking themselves in the moment they have been granted. He's missed her warmth, her smile, her grace and everything about her. For now, he'll allow himself to familiarize himself with the scent in her hair and the smile he's missed because if he misses his chance again, he'll most dearly regret it for the rest of his life.

 

"God, I didn't know if you'd remember," she mumbles.

 

Chuckling while he pulls back, he cups her cheeks, his thumb brushing over her cheekbones. "When has anything ever stopped me from returning back to you, love?"

 

Without a response, she just smiles, all bright and happy, and this, he's missed all of her from head to toe, inside and out. He doesn't care if he's a lowly Lieutenant in the Navy serving under her parents, nor does he care that she's royalty and everything above him. Throw rankings and roles out the window because to him, all he sees in Killian and Emma. Nothing else but that.

 

"I have something to tell you," he begins, "and whether you take it the good or bad way, well, that is all up to you, darling." Taking a deep breath, he drops his hands down to his sides before embarking on his little emotional journey of an explanation. "I don't know when, or why or how, but I've fallen for you in all the ways I can remember, Emma. From the moment we first met a couple years ago to now, I have never been so taken aback by any woman before. You were the light in my life, disregarding Liam, of course. And whenever you managed to smile and laugh, all I could do and can do is mirror you because whatever you are, I am very much the same. I have never been so enamored, that is until I met you. And _gods_ , woman, I have never missed anyone more than my mother when she first passed, but when I was on that ship for one week, I had already longed for having your presence. I know.... I know I am merely a Lieutenant in the Navy, that I am not deserving of you at all, but Emma, what I'm trying to say is that _I love you_ and that _you're my home_." His breath catches in the back of his throat by the ending statement, his eyes trained on the way her face softens in expression.

 

She's speechless, apparently, and he knows it's far too much to take in, especially upon his new arrival back in the kingdom, but he wanted it out of his system, and now that it is, everything feels far more lighter. He's not sure what to do, especially because she's slowly leaning forward, her head tilted upwards toward him, her eyes slowly closing, and for some reason, he does the exact same until their lips meet tenderly, everything so firm and real, and he's kissing the damn Princess but also Emma, and this is the raw and vulnerable Emma, not the stubborn, headstrong woman who would have probably pushed him away instead.

 

Instinctively, he settles his hands at her waist, the corset hugging her body quite well. Neither of them part for awhile, not until breathing is a necessity, but even then, very little distance is between them. Their foreheads touching and noses bumping, the intimate gestures tugging at the inside of his pacing heart. He's never imagined his first kiss to be like _this_ , and he's glad he's shared it with her, because this means that she feels the same, but is just unable to put her own feelings into words.

 

"My parents tried giving me off to suitors," she quietly whispers, "but they never worked."

 

"And why's that?"

 

"I told them someone else already stole my heart, and that it was only a matter of time until they would return," she answers, opening her eyes to look at him. He notices her chewing on her bottom lip before she states, "I wasn't wrong."

 

Grinning, he surges forward again, kissing her senseless because this is exactly what he's wanted all along. Only the confirmation that she reciprocates the same feeling makes him feel a lot more lighter, and there should be no other possible way to love her even more, but he's sure his love only grows and strengthens every second. "I knew you fancied me back then," he teases playfully, his hands dropping from her waist to interlock their fingers together. "It just took the both of us some time to realize. That's what it was, wasn't it, my love?"

 

"Yeah, it just took us some time and distance... but I'm glad that's over. I was starting to think you wouldn't return to me."

 

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "No, don't you ever think that way, Emma. I will always return back to you, no matter the hardships I'd have to struggle through."

 

 

* * *

 

 

"We should get you back inside," he murmurs.

 

"But _Lieutenant_ Jones, I'm not tired."

 

"It would be mostly certainly bad form to let the _Princess_ roam free in the middle of the night on the outskirts of the castle property," he reasons, offering her his arm which she takes. "And you are quite aware that I don't like to break my code of honour."

 

She sighs and follows him along. "Wasn't much honor in stealing cookies from the kitchen."

 

He huffs a breath and laughs, shaking his head lightly. "I suppose not, but then again, I was only a young teenager back then."

 

"Doesn't excuse your behaviour, Lieutenant."

 

"Yes, of course, m'lady," he mutters as they walk side by side.

 

It's not probably the best thing to be doing leading the Princess in when it's so late, the guards completely being confused of their unusual timing of entrance, but they let them in without any questions anyways. Guiding her back to her bedroom down the massive halls, they settle for the comfortable silence since it's already so late at night, most people are back to bed, including the King and Queen. Before she opens her door, she turns around and looks up at him, smiling and brushing her lips softly against his once more.

 

"See you in the morning, Lieutenant Jones?"

 

He smiles, nodding curtly. "If you'll allow me with the grace of your presence, I will most certainly see you in the morning, Princess Emma."


	31. highly exotic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Ahh, love you for accepting prompts! Please take your time and again love you~~!! There’s this cute guy that works or volunteers at the nearest farmers market and they sell "exotic"fruits(salmonberries,durian,kumquats etc) that I'd never eat in my life but I’m going to pretend to like them to strike up a convo and ask him out. - Anonymous

Emma Swan does not eat exotic fruits, nor is she that interested in them, but she’s sort of in a knot when it comes to that handsome, tall, black haired guy volunteering at the farmers market twice a week. She makes an effort of going there whenever he’s working. Consider her creepy. Emma Swan has become a creepy stalker on a hot dude who probably doesn’t give two minutes of thought about her at all.

 

(As begrudgingly against her own will, however.)

 

It’s probably her seventh time coming to the market. (At least she makes an effort to actually buy stuff while she’s there anyways.) Just as she’s strolling down the place, she catches sight of him starting to sort out the fruits into their right spots. He’s in his uniform, black and orange, and hot _damn_ , does he look… well hot in that.

 

She feels like a pathetic little schoolgirl with a big crush on the popular varsity football team captain in school. It’s odd.

 

Now before judging her, you should probably be aware that it’s not just herself finding him extremely good looking. She feels some sort of actual attraction to him, and it’s probably just her being on a new level of desperation or paranoia, but whatever it is, she can’t seem to remove that buzzing feeling in her guts, or the way her stomach flips when she catches him smiling. She _really_ does not have a clue about why she feels any of this because not once in her life, her twenty-five years of life, has she seen someone and had feelings as prominent as this before.

 

When he glances up for the slightest moment, of course that’s _exactly_ when she decides to make eye contact with him, and she’s about 100% sure her face is flushing red. He winks at her, and yeah, _no_ , she’s not going to survive this whatsoever. Plan should be obliterated by now, but as she licks her lips and exhales a shaky breath, she decides she’s going to actually go up there and strike up some conversation with him.

 

She’d be a fool to skip any opportunity if she lets her shyness get the best of her. Throwing all caution to the wind, her feet start bringing her toward him, and he looks up from where he is, smiling as he sets the last fruit from his crate into the other stacks of fruits.

 

“Uh, hi.”

 

“Hello, lass. To what do I owe the pleasure? Need help with a decision on fruits? Because if you do, I’d gladly help, however I’m not an expert at any of this,” he says. “But I can still offer your assistance, if you require it.”

 

 _Oh god, he has an accent._ She was mildly prepared for this, jesus. And she’s screwed now because he knows nothing of these fruits, and she’d assumed he did, and oh, her plan is just in the sewers now. “I was hoping so, but it’s not necessary.”

 

“You’re rather red, are you okay?”

 

“Oh, uhm… yeah, I’m fine,” she mutters nervously, gulping.

 

He chuckles, itching a spot behind his ear before beginning to speak again. “You know… I’ve never met a lady like you who’s _that_ nervous about asking me out.”

 

She crosses her arms. “What?”

 

“If you think I haven’t noticed you come about every week, every _time_ I’m here stacking the fruits up, I think you’re underestimating my abilities of perceptiveness and observation,” he explains, shrugging. “But alas, you’ve made your presence quite obvious now.”

 

“And you think I’ve come to ask you out? You’re quite full of yourself,” she shoots back, slightly annoyed by his own confidence and self-ego.

 

“Ah, but what other reason would you be here? Boast about your knowledge on these fruits? Because I’m quite positive you’ve not got a clue about a single fruit here, love.”

 

(She’s not going to admit it, _ever_ , but he’s a genius and can read her easily.)

 

It’s like the cat’s literally got her tongue now. She’s out of comebacks, and Emma Swan is never so easily defeated with comebacks. She’s been bested by the hot volunteer who stacks exotic fruits at the nearby farmers market, how ridiculously hilarious is that?

 

“I know exotic fruits, but I don’t know _how_ they look, for your information,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.

 

“Oh, do enlighten me.”

 

“You want me to list exotic fruits? I’ll list you exotic fruits.”

 

And she starts rambling on a list from dragon fruit (which is probably the most common one of all), to rambutan and lychees. If that’s not enough, there’s a smirk on his face and a pinch of amusement that she’s really feeling sheepish about now, because she literally just had to prove to him that she still knows some fruits whether she knows their appearances or not.

 

Yeah, she’s an utter failure at this stuff.

 

His smirk stays plastered across his face the entire time their conversation continues, and she doesn’t know how she’s doing it, but she’s keeping up a conversation with him, and this is _real_. He seems to be arrogant, flirtatious, and just about a dash of everything else a girl probably wants. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he’s already dating someone else, but for some reason, she knows he’s not. Perhaps it’s the fact that he’s standing here talking to her, discussing things with no specific subject at hand, quite voluntarily, without pulling away from her for thinking she’s a complete idiot.

 

(She definitely does not notice his blue eyes and stunning smile that makes her stomach flip _again_. Nope, definitely not.)

 

(And no, despite the usual of some people buying fruits here, it seems that they’re not going to purchase anything this time around because they find the cute boy and stubborn, shy girl flirting to be _too cute_ to even interrupt.)

 

(Nope, she doesn’t believe in that either.)

 

But then again, she literally has no interest in exotic fruits and she’s come here after work for seven times in the past 3-4 weeks now, what in the world is she doing anyways?

 

Anyways, she finds it oddly easy to talk to him without any worries (flutters and nervousness from embarrassment aside). And to make things worse, however, is that they may be talking right now, but she doesn’t even know his name, and he doesn’t know hers.

 

“I, uhm, we don’t even know each other’s name,” she states.

 

“So you’ve finally realized,” he murmurs, his tongue flicking out between his lips. “Killian Jones at your service.”

 

She is _okay_ , totally _chill_ right now. “Emma Swan.”

 

“Well, Swan, if we’re done discussing about these fruits that you clearly have no real interest in, I would love to have dinner with you one day,” he boldly tells her, a playful, yet genuine glimmer in his eyes.

 

“I was supposed to ask you out,” she retaliates, her eyebrows scrunching together. “Otherwise my entire plan of pretending to even like these fruits has gone down the drain too quickly, Jones.”

 

He laughs, shaking his head lightly. “I suppose we wouldn’t want your efforts to be in vain. Go ahead then, love.”

 

“Go out with me?”

 

He winks. “I look forward to it.”

 

(He brings god damn exotic fruit to her apartment when he arrives, and she can’t help but let her head drop, yet smile to herself because this man is not someone she’s willing to pass up so easily.)

 

If only her eyes hadn’t been so trained to be glued on the cute boy stocking up unique fruits at the farmers market. She’s humiliated herself in front of him, and he’s going to use every opportunity he gets to make fun of her for it.

 

(And when she invites him inside, they share the sweet fruit together. She tries to ignore the way he licks his lips and smiles.)

  
(She also attempts to ignore the sweetness of his lips against hers when he wishes her a good night. Once again, utter failure.)


	32. misspelled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** I’m a barista and you’re the obnoxious customer who comes through and orders a venti macchiato while talking on the phone the whole time so I misspell your name in increasingly creative ways every day AU" Which goes with "I’m a busy businessperson and my barista keeps misspelling my name in increasingly disrespectful ways, honestly, who does this person think they are AU - lenfaz

It's not _his_ fault that he has a constantly busy job as a businessman who has to deal with multiple phone calls a day. And not to mention the fact that all of these phone calls are usually early in the morning - precisely a reason he despises being his own _business owner_ , instead of a mere employee. But when business calls, it calls.

 

He's usually not that bad of a person, at least, that's what he thinks he is. In fact, he believes he is a decent gentleman who does everything he possibly can to reach his own standards and to be capable of pleasing himself - to feel satisfaction.

 

And it's particularly difficult to get to work early with a clear mind after a rather heated phone call when the barista who spells his name wrong every day and every time he orders a drink does so again. The first time he only thought of it as a mistake and the second, he just simply decided to ignore it... but it starts to get rather frustrating every time he takes his drink to notice the misunderstanding of how to spell "Killian."

 

"No, Mr. Smee, that is _not_ what we have sent orders in for," he complains, nodding at the barista (no mention to the beautiful blonde with a raised brow, definitely _not_ ) who just knows his normal by now. "Perhaps if you cannot complete such a simple task, I'll have your bloody behind out of _my_ company so you can rattle your way to find another occupation instead of dragging down this one."

 

"Y - Yes, sir," is the response from his employee.

 

Sighing, he waits to the side. "Now, I'll be at the office in about fifteen minutes and I expect all matters to be dealt with by my arrival, and if not, hopefully in the process. These shipments are important, Mr. Smee."

 

Just as he shoves his phone into the back pocket of his pants, she sets the drink in front of him, startling him slightly. "Your drink, _sir_."

 

"Many thanks, lass," he says, wrapping his fingers around the to-go cup.

 

Just as he's about to go, when he reads the name written on his cup as "Kill-yen," he curses quietly under his breath before reminding himself to _keep his eyes averted from the misspelled name_.

 

By the time he opens the doors to his office, in his own utter rage and despise of the woman who always tends to his order -

 

(It's not like he's never noticed her name tag which has " _Emma_ " scribbled over it in black sharpie, or the fact her eyes are a brilliant shade of green in the morning when they sparkle with a glow like he's never seen before. He'd be lying if he does say he never notices her stunning beauty, even with the ridiculous uniform on.)

 

\- he chucks it into the garbage can before trying to move on through his day.

 

He's never drained a drink so fast in his life.

 

.~.

 

Saturday morning, he strolls into the same coffee shop ordering his usual. Except this time, he's _going_ to ask her why the bloody hell she always spells his name wrong. He knows it's on purpose.

 

The first time was "Killy," the second was "Killean," and the third, which was undoubtedly yesterday morning, "Killi-yen."

 

No woman has ever infuriated him so much before, let alone also make him feel so _attracted_ simultaneously.  If he's going to have any say in this, the least he can do it ask and perhaps fix up what he's done to create such an impression or grudge. Why has he been bestowed with the same barista on the same days he goes in the morning? That - well, it's not something he'll probably find an answer to anytime soon. Not that he's complaining.

 

"The usual, Mr. Jones?" she asks, her tone slightly lifted with a playful desire. "Why do I ask? You order the same thing every other morning, _of course_ your order is coming right up."

 

He opens his mouth to protest in questioning but she's departed to go gather his drink before he has the chance to say anything. Closing his eyes and heaving a deep breath, he glances down at the watch on his wrist. It's only 10:43AM, why does he even bother with this woman?

 

Because she's bloody infuriating and stubborn and intriguing all the same.

 

It's a good three minutes before she's back, sliding the cup to him. "Here it is."

 

Glancing behind him, it's surprisingly empty for a weekend, so he decides it's time for him to ask now. "Ah, now, I'd usually provide my thanks to you - as per usual - but today I have a question that needs an answer." He spins the cup just to see the bit of his name completely written incorrectly.

 

She crosses her eyes, attitude flaring up almost instantaneously. "And you think _I_ can answer it?"

 

"Of course, Emma, you are the one who deals with my order every time I'm in here." He shrugs, leaning his elbow on the counter. "Perhaps you can explain to me why you constantly decide to misspell my name on the drink every time."

 

He nearly unconsciously rolls his eyes when he remembers it's spelled as "KiLlIIIIYAN" this time around.

 

"I don't know what you mean," she dismisses, cocking her head to the side casually. "I mean, cut me some slack. You've never complained before so I figured there was no point in changing how I dealt with your name anyways."

 

"Love, it'd heal my linguistic passion if you'd for once - I beg of you - spell it _correctly_."

 

"Hm?" she hums. "I think not."

 

"Bloody hell, what have I done to deserve this?" he mutters, running his hand over his face before staring down at the cup of his usual venti macchiato.

 

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that you walk in here every morning with a scowl and that god damn phone to your ear, venting about whatever while I'm here trying to do my job?" She huffs a breath before continuing on. "Like clearly I'm trying to do my part, but with you yelling... _talking_ loudly... at whoever is on the end of that phone is really annoying."

 

For the slightest moment, he thinks back to the times he's walked into this coffee shop in the way that she's described -

 

Oh.

 

 _Oh_.

 

He feels apologetic, like he needs to apologize a hundred times over at the way he's acted in the past week. It's been stressful every single day, but he's been so ignorant about the surrounding world and people around him, he's been consistently annoying her. And it's all been on his own accord, his own actions, his own words. Pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the rush of thoughts - well attempt to at least - he extends his hand out and sighs.

 

"Sorry," he starts, "hadn't paid attention enough to realize that you've been only the utmost pleasure at being the barista and all I've done is been unattentive and cause a ruckus." His hand falls down before it goes behind his ear, scratching it gently. "Being the owner of your own sailing business and having a incompetent, however, reliable employee, is somewhat of a struggle to get through. Including the fact tourism season is nearing."

 

She practically eyes him, searching him for _something_ \- maybe lies, some trace of the false truth - but when she drops her arms that have been crossed over her chest to the side, she shakes her head. "You own a sailing business?"

 

"Neverland Sailing Incorporated, darling," he drawls, jerking his head languidly to the side.

 

"You own the _biggest_ sailing company in all of Maine," she mutters, blinking rapidly. "You're kidding me."

 

"I assure you I'm not," he says, picking up his drink with the _very_ misspelled name on it and taking a sip. "Perhaps I can offer you a free ride to compensate for my rather... non-courteous behaviour. I can promise you no Killian Jones complaining about anything over the phone on your little trip - peace, quiet and the gentle rocking of the ship is all you'll have to experience."

 

She laughs softly.

 

He wants to hear that more.

 

(He's going _mad_ already.)

 

"Maybe," she vaguely responds, "one day."

 

"Then I look forward to that one day, as you so suggestively put it." He grins, raising his cup at her. "Until next time, love." Turning his back, he starts to walk toward the door. When he turns his head once more to catch a glance of her blonde hair and green eyes, she's staring directly at him.

 

What has he just done to himself?

 

.~.

  


He can't help but feel a bit down the next time he goes to the coffee shop for his regular and Emma isn't there. It's that other girl who has a wolfish grin, though very kind and enthusiastic. He knows of her - Ruby - since her grandmother owns the shop. Plus, she's a friend who does some rare dropoffs for food.

 

"Your drink has been paid for already, Killian," she tells him, reaching over and handing him the cup. "I assure you it is _not_ drugged."

 

His tongue glides in between his teeth as he takes the cup from her hands somewhat hesitantly. "Thank you, lass. Tell whoever it is that I owe them."

 

She smiles. It's mischevious of the sorts. "Of course."

 

Turning on his heels and leaving, he glances back down at the cup, tilting it slightly to notice the name that has _finally_ been spelled correctly. He wonders if it was Ruby's work, but he's familiar with Ruby's writing and it's definitely not hers. Then, he makes out the connected words to realize it was _her_.

 

Smiling as he takes small sips from his drinks, he doesn't completely down it this time around. He's in no hurry to get to work, nor is he in an angry mood. Glancing around town, he sighs contently before climbing into his black BMW, setting the cup aside before driving his way to the docks.

 

.~.

 

After three more weeks of ridiculous spelled names and rampages of unending banter between them, he finally, _accidentally_ , asks her out on a date on a whim.

 

"What?"

 

"You heard me, Swan," he retorts confidently. "Go on a date with me. As much as you are a pain in the arse with spelling my name wrong all the time, save for that one time you weren't here and had Ruby handle the pre-bought drink you bestowed me with, I think it's hardly in your favour to deny."

 

Her eyebrows shoot up before they drop back down, a look of consideration growing on her face. "I hardly know you."

 

"Yes, your most _frequent_ customer who manages to talk and joke with you is a stranger," he says, sarcasm dripping from his tone. "If you'd love to consider me that, then let us get to know each other to eliminate the "stranger" stage."

 

"Are you going to ask me again if I decline now?"

 

"Is that even a _question_ , sweetheart?"

 

"No, I suppose not."

 

"So what do you say?" he asks. "Take a chance on the well known Killian Jones, millionaire playboy who owns a large sailing company."

 

"You're none of those things."

 

"Millionaire? Yes. Owner of a large sailing company? Yes." He takes a deep breath, building the suspense. "Playboy? Well... no, of course not, but you get my point. I'd hardly peg you to consider my offer if I was a playboy - I've got a reputation to keep up, Swan."

 

He doesn't even talk on the phone anymore when he saunters into the coffee shop asking for his usual, yet she still treats him the same as before. Besides the small bit of friendship they've developed over the past month.

 

"Fine," she groans, squeezing her eyes shut.

 

Smirking, he sets his five dollar bill on the counter. "Take the change, and of course, meet me at the docks at seven, _tonight_. I'm one for punctuality, love - best you should know that."

 

.~.

 

He kisses her -

 

What is he doing?

 

He's on a date with her of course, but he's _kissing_ her and she tastes of sweet hot chocolate and a whiff of cinnamon somewhere around there too. He can't get enough, he needs to taste her more and more and _more_.

 

And god, this is raw and sweet and passionate, he's got it for her _bad_.

 

.~.

 

"And," she starts, handing him his cup, "there you go."

 

"You..." he mutters, noticing that his name isn't even on the cup, "did not put my name on the cup."

 

She shrugs lazily. "Woops. I must've _forgotten_."

 

Pursing his lips, he rolls his eyes before his lips curl into a smile. "Perhaps next time."

 

"Next time."

  
And it sounds like a promise.


	33. before the rain

He's noticed her before.

 

But no one knows her well, no one speaks to her, and she seems to keep herself excluded from the rest of the school and it's posses. He's known to be the popular kid in school, the one who's _cool_ and _hot_ and whatever other words are used to describe him. He has a bad boy demeanor, but under it is a guy who's perfectly normal, does all of his homework with good grades, and doesn't do drugs.

 

He's wondered about her before.

 

There is something unique about her, something he can't precisely put his finger on. He's not deaf - he's heard of the spreading rumours of who she is, what she's like. It's no surprise about what she secludes herself from the rest of the school. He only wishes to help her sometimes, _befriend_ her, even in spite of his perfect reputation.

 

She seems to try her hardest in class - he has two classes with her - but people don't recognize her efforts. No, wait, _he_ does. Killian Jones recognizes her hard work and he applauds it.

 

Her eyes hold a certain pool of sorrow, and he wishes to push away the pain from her. In the morning when he has homeroom English with her, her movements are languid and her attention span doesn't hold very long. It's a class for presentations on their latest Independent Study Unit, but she hardly looks prepared to do any presenting at all if she gets called up.

 

Everything speeds by quickly on the first couple of presentations, but when her name is called, Killian immediately raises his hand and offers to go in front of her, to stall any time possible until the last couple minutes of class are over. The teacher shrugs with a smile before waving toward the laptop, giving him his opportunity. And he rocks the entire ten minutes remaining of first period, right to when the announcements start on the PA system. Unplugging his USB from the laptop, as he returns to his seat, he catches a glance of _Emma Swan_ , and there's a faint, ghost of a smile.

 

He wonders if he'll ever see a brighter smile than that. Perhaps another time.

 

He nods and smiles back before packing up all of his things, moving on for the rest of the day.

 

It's silent support on his part, and he's positive she acknowledges him for his help.

 

"I just... wanted to thank you for everything, Killian," she murmurs, her eyes casted away. "Before my chance is gone."

 

He knits his eyebrows together, narrowing his eyes at her words. "Before your chance is gone?" he asks, promptly pursing his lips together in thought. "Are you leaving?"

 

She scoffs - it's _bitter_ and _sad_ \- her expression flat. "If you haven't heard, I'm an orphan. I go around families all the time, so yes, I'm probably going to leave at some point. Not yet, but probably soon."

 

"And you've no grasp on hope?"

 

She stays silent, her eyes closed. "... no. It's better to not give or receive false hope because I've learned that the hard way - multiple times."

 

He aches, something in his heart and mind is telling him he wants to help, that he'd do anything he possibly can to give her a better life, something she truly deserves. But he's no help. Liam can only handle taking care of him and him only, there's no way he can take her with him.

 

Out of any instinct, he finds himself pulling her toward a hug, just something to comfort her, to tell her that at least he cares about her. No matter the distance between them, he'll always find a way to help, be a phantom there pulling and pushing her toward all the right things. "Not much I can say to that," he whispers, pulling away. "But if you can't hope on it, then I will."

 

She smiles, but once again, it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

 

"Okay."

 

.~.

 

It's a funny feeling when he goes to class, noticing the empty seat which should be filled by her. He thinks she may be late, but she doesn't show up at all and his heart drops a little to know she may have been sent away. He tries not to think about it, but for the past four months, he's grown to know her slowly, bit by bit, and he's not ready to let her go at all.

 

Despite the red-rimmed eyes, or black circles, she's still beautiful and he likes her. News spreads fast that the Killian Jones has been caught hanging out with the loser orphan around town.

 

He wants to throw those people out the window for their lack of respect.

 

But it's weird, like a part of him, _his life_ , is missing without her being in class. _Maybe she's sick_ , he muses as he completes his test on Hamlet.

 

It's only when it's been four days and she hasn't been at school for any of her classes - not even spotted- does he start to worry about the worse outcome.

 

Rumours always have a way of passing him quickly.

 

_"They said that Emma Swan girl got hit by a car the other day in the rain."_

_"Did you hear the news about the orphan?"_

_"I bet her foster parent's don't give two shits about her life anyways."_

_"I feel sorry for her."_

 

He's outraged - _furious_ \- and wants to know if all of this is true or not. So to take matters into his own hands, he goes to the office and asks to see Principal Hopper.

 

"It's not my place to disclose any private information on Emma, Killian," he tells him.

 

"But I _need_ to know!" Killian demands, pleading for his help. "She's my _friend_ and I'm really concerned for her."

 

"I'm not sure you should know this stuff, Killian. You're a brilliant student - there's two more months of school left - you should focus on your work instead of trying to get into other people's lives."

 

"I can handle myself, Mr. Hopper. _Please_ tell me," he begs. "I promise I'll stay on top of my homework and grades, none of that will change."

 

.~.

 

Before all of that, his life had been mostly fine, no drama, no worries, nothing. Except for _one_ little thing. He lacked love despite Liam's presence in his life.

 

And, well, Emma Swan comes parading in with all her silence and eye-catching blonde hair with complementary green eyes, where everything changes. The moment he noticed her, everything in his world had really been impacted drastically.

 

But no, _this_ is worse. The white hallways, the occasional sirens outside from an emergency protocol, the killer beeping from the machines. Sometimes, he wishes he had never gone into the school office and demanded to know what happened to Emma. But if he didn't, then he would never forgive himself for leaving her behind without a word. Even with her body in the bed next to him, all weak - battered and bruised badly. Her foster parents have paid for her medical bills, but they don't visit her, and even if they do, they don't visit as often as he does.

 

He takes an hour out of his day every day after school to pay a visit, to drop by flowers that wilt overtime, to see if her conditions will improve. At any rate, they're not improving at all, and things look quite bleak at the moment.

 

He doesn't know what pulls him back toward the hospital each day. But despite his brother's protests sometimes, he almost feels at fault if he ever misses a day, as if he's done something that he'll regret. Whether or not his superstition holds up or not, he just goes anyways. To see her, to understand she's still alive and trying to fight to survive - at least he hopes that's what's going inside of her.

 

Sometimes, he'll read a story to her before he leaves. Or, he'll tell her the latest dumb gossip the clique of girls were murmuring about behind the cafeteria.

 

But days go by... and soon it's months, and those months turn into an entire year.

 

His friends say he's changed, that he's not the old Killian Jones from before Emma Swan. He doesn't care though, he'd much rather be who he is now - the person who's promised to not break his promise of holding onto hope when she can't. The person who's tried harder in class because his dreams are to be a doctor, and not just because of Emma's condition. No, her case only motivates him to be a better him.

 

Soon enough he's graduated high school and moving into college - to also aim for a PhD. And even through the struggles of keeping up with work and experience in the field, he finds time to check up on her still. It's been two years since they last exchanged words.

 

They say she won't wake up. That it's virtually impossible by this point. That she's brain dead, possibly.

 

He refuses to believe any of that.

 

_"It was her time to cross the street, but the car's brakes malfunctioned which caused the driver unable to stop the car - and the pouring rain didn't help either. It... hit her awfully hard, Killian. She's in a coma."_

_"Her head took a blunt amount of damage from the accident so we can't tell when she'll be able to wake up. She has a set of cracked ribs, which have been taken care of, and a broken arm, which has been fixed and put into a cast."_

 

He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he looks at her pale face. Her features have grown, even during the time of her coma. He wonders how she'd look once she recovers, how beautiful and absolutely stunning she would be. How lovely of a woman she'd have turned out to be if it wasn't for the bloody rain and the car losing its own control.

 

He caresses her cheek softly, the skin still unfairly soft. Dipping down, he presses a kiss to her forehead. "I'll see you later, Swan. Better not wake up without me."

 

.~.

 

His hours are bipolar, but that gives him more time to see her when he's on his break.

 

He's twenty-nine and working at the hospital Emma is still in.

 

People think he's always on the market, and yeah, well, he's tried dating some other women a couple of times, but none of them were to his liking. And it wasn't just that, because the other excuse would be the fact he has his heart and mind set on Swan instead.

 

"David and Mary Margaret are engaged now," he says quietly. "You probably think I'm _crazy_ since I still come to see you almost every day, hoping you'll be awake soon. You would probably also yell at me for how I've... somehow along the path... fallen _in love with you_." He takes a moment to pause, his thumb tracing over her knuckles. She's skinnier than before from the lack of food and nutrients, but she's still his Swan. "Fallen in love with the girl in a fucking coma." He groans. "Bloody hell, how does one manage that? Of course I mucked that up."

 

He laughs anyways, wishing she'd wake up already. It's been over ten years now and all of his heart only goes out for her.

 

"Guess I can't particularly stop what the heart wants, my Swan," he mutters, shaking his head. "But I love you, Emma. Come back to me, _please_ ," he pleads, pressing his forehead to her hand. "I'll be waiting."

 

Only a couple days later when he gets called in for an emergency check up, he's not prepared to see her.

 

She's awake, _finally_ , and she looks exhausted and broken.  He can tell how she's trying to keep her eyes open and on him, to try and focus on his face. Her eyebrows are adorably furrowed, as if she's slowly coming back to recognition with the face in front of her.

 

"Welcome back, love. I've been waiting," is the first thing he says to her, grinning.

 

She smiles weakly, but at least this time, he can tell she's trying for them to reach her eyes. "Killian," she breathes out, "thank you." Her voice is raspy and _utterly_ destroyed, and she's not perfect, but he doesn't need perfect, he just needs her.

 

He just needs her from before the rain. Just the Emma Swan again.

 


	34. ii. before the rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second, and (most likely) last installment of this.

Getting her back into shape is not an easy task at hand, but he's willing to bear this all for her. He's willing to nurse her back to perfect health again, to be that pillar of support - not only from love - since it's both the right, and honourable thing to do.

 

She's tired a lot, her muscles weary, the tension in her bones tight, and her eyelids heavy-lidded. It must be exhausting with the amount of work she has to do in the mornings and afternoons just so she can start to work out her body again. He doesn't know how he's going to help her through this because the physical therapist - who has a very high tolerance in patience - even feels hopeless for her on some days.

 

But he can see the determination in her eyes. God, he's missed those mesmerizing green eyes.

 

Some days, she can only speak so much before she feels out of energy. That's what's expected considering she's been bedridden for ten entire years, falling and spinning in some sort of darkness which took forever to escape from. In most cases, he gives her hand a squeeze and a kiss to her forehead when no one is watching them because god what would happen to his career if he was found fraternizing with one of his patients? (Then again he's in bloody love with her and they've been... friends since childhood.)

 

She doesn't remember much of the accident, of course, and it's probably a good thing, at least for now. For now she can sleep peacefully and not have frightening nightmares of the day she got hit, or the pain she had experienced during it. But, it's not to say she doesn't have nightmares from some other repercussions that she's experienced during her comatose. According to what she's told him, she could hear things, sometimes, while she wasn't drowning behind some sort of void growing in her mind. According to what she's told him, she wanted to scream and shout that she was alive, but her voice was only heard in her own head.

 

There is a definite sense of aching pain for what she's struggled through.

 

On occasion, he'll bring in food for her to eat. And when she smiles at him, something soft and gentle, he feels something spark inside of him, whether it be just relief that she's okay and alive, or just because he's in love with her. (Probably both.)

 

"You said you could sometimes hear during your coma," he says, staring out the window. "What _did_ you hear?"

 

He's wondering if she heard him confess his love for her.

 

"Some stuff," she answers shortly, "some I remember, some I don't."

 

He turns to her, raising an eyebrow in curiosity at the little of her statement. "What do you remember then, Swan?"

 

"Stories you told me," she speaks quietly, "and that you love me."

 

"Of course you heard _that_ ," he whispers, shaking his head.

 

"Did you not want me to hear that?" she asks, her voice sounding hurt.

 

He doesn't like that, he doesn't like the sensation he feels whenever her voice cracks or when her eyes fill with doubt. "No, love, I did want you to hear that but not like... well, how you were back then at least." He sighs, moving over toward her bed. "On better circumstances, yes. But I assure you my feelings have not changed about you, and I don't reckon they'll change in a very, very long time."

 

"Okay," she murmurs, "I get it."

 

He smiles and leans downward, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. He knows it must be difficult for her to deal with any feelings about him, but he doesn't expect her to reciprocate them whatsoever. Whether she loves him or even likes him doesn't matter at all - all he wants to do is get her back on her feet and outside, to experience the world she's missed out on for ten years.

 

And if she's willing, like before, he's going to guide her through it all, to protect and cherish her like she needs to be because love has been all too rare in her life with the foster system and tacky families.

 

.~.

 

He attends one of her physical therapy sessions on his spare day, and as usual, he's offering his silent support - except for the little remarks he makes which causes her to chuckle or try harder.

 

Elsa is her physiotherapist, and they seem to get along quite swell. She seems to be getting the hang of it again, using her legs after ten years of not moving them. Although movements are still slightly slow, he can pick out the concentration on her face and the attempts she's making, despite her body protesting against her. They share stories while they're at it, making it easier for her to work, to calm her nerves.

 

It's not an easy job for her at all.

 

"No... Mary Margaret will be the one to stuff your face with cookies - which are delicious, for your information - no matter how hard you try to deny her." He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. "David, well, he's likely to just hug you and be some sort of protective father. I wouldn't be surprised if their child grew up to be with one's hospitality and the other's vigilance."

 

"Sounds... great," she mutters, focusing on stretching her legs out.

 

"Oh, they're fantastic friends," Elsa adds in while helping her. "Killian is not so fond of Mary Margaret's approach to comfort though. I think he's grown tired of chocolate chip cookies."

 

"I _have_ grown tired of them," he grumbles, rolling his eyes dramatically. "She just automatically assumes I'm unhappy and then I've been graced with her lovely presence and comfort food."

 

She laughs. "Sounds cool." She drops her leg, rubbing her eyes. "Can we stop for today? I'm tired as hell and I don't think I can do this much longer."

 

"Yeah, of course, Emma!" Elsa concludes, smiling. "We're making progress. Soon enough we'll take you on a walk outside so we can put those legs back in action."

 

"Okay, thanks, Elsa."

 

"I'll be seeing you two later then." She gets up, grabbing her stuff. "See you later, Killian. Emma."

 

He nods at her with a smile and Emma says goodbye, and then the door closes behind her and he turns his head back to Emma. He knows there's something wrong since she's abruptly decided to end the session a quarter earlier than usual. Instead of pressing on with it, he decides to push it to the corner of his head for now and just get her to rest.

 

It feels like a routine to him already, tucking her in comfortably before setting his lips on her forehead, wishing her a good rest before leaving the room for the day.

 

"You all good, Swan?"

 

She nods. "Yep. Thanks."

 

.~.

 

When she tells him she's starting to get these sudden flash of memories of nothing in particular, that's when he starts to worry. After two weeks since her declaring that these images are popping into her mind, he begins to notice the darkness build under her eyes and the lack of attention she has when someone is speaking to her. It's like when he noticed her being unprepared in class all over again, except in this case, well, it's much more serious than some dumb school project from over ten years ago.

 

He's working overtime on his shift tonight and he's _just_ about to check in on her until he hears screams. It takes him less than second to burst into her room and find her body shaking and her face sculptured into something of pure _pain_ and _horror_. It takes him a couple of minutes to shake her out of it, whatever the memory is dragging her in deeply.

 

Her heartbeat is going over the top and she's still bloody trembling ridiculously. He's telling her to breathe, to take deep breaths, to focus on his face, reminding her everything was just a nightmare.

 

"You were dreaming, love. Just look at me and take deep breaths, okay?"

 

Her eyes are still full of fear and he'd do anything he can to gather her into his lap and just hold her until she's okay. But he can't do that. He just keeps his grip firm on her shoulders. "Do you want to talk about it? Shake your head for no, nod for yes." She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. He understands that, so he kisses her forehead and her cheek. "Okay, Emma, that's fine. Tell me on your own time if you need to, alright? That's why I'm here - whether you want Doctor Jones or just your friend, I'll be here."

 

A couple minutes later she's drifted back to sleep and his panic meter has settled back below the bar. He sighs quietly, running a hand through his hair as he grabs his clipboard that he's set besides to write down the status of recovery. Unfortunately, he has to record down her nightmares because he's going to need to figure out how to deal with those, whether she wants to get an actual therapist, or just see if they'll eventually fade away with time. He highly doubts either will work and he's the doctor here.

 

The next day in his office, he catches glance of her and Elsa outside and he's _proud_ of her. She's walking perfectly fine without many issues from what he can tell, and that means she'll no longer have to spend the rest of her life residing inside a hospital.

 

Except when he remembers she doesn't exactly have a place to go back to. No family. No place to consider home. He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face before glancing up at the clock which reads a mere 3:28PM. His shift doesn't end until another hour, yet he still has so many things crowding his mind at once.

 

His face contorts into a grimace, cringing as he glances down at the sheets of paper sprawled across his desk based on Emma's conditions. There are scribbles in black and red pen all over, filled in blank spaces, circled phrases that have all managed to merge into a blur for him. At some point, he'll just have to file these away once he gives her the go to be released from the confines of the hospital. Taking in a deep breath, he leans back in his chair before huffing his breath out and deciding to set the papers aside.

 

There are no emergencies around town as often as before, not that many ill people to tend to. He takes a round going through the hallways, checking up on any patients possible before returning back to his office, taking off the white lab coat. He runs into Emma and Elsa's return as he leaves, and she's _smiling_ , her face relatively free from worry, except that hollow fear he catches a glance of when they make eye contact.

 

"Successful, I wager?" he asks them.

 

"Yes, she's almost there," Elsa answers. "Probably another three sessions and she'll be good as new."

 

"That's fantastic news, ladies." He grins, nodding at the both of them. "Well, my shift is over and perhaps I can bring back some food if either of you want anything."

 

"I think I'm good," Emma says, waving it off, "gotta get rest, you know?"

 

He nods. "Exhausting as it is." He pauses, his eyes shifting to Elsa, and she shakes her head.

 

"I've got another patient to deal with tonight and I don't think I'll have enough time to eat. Thank you though."

 

"Right, well good luck with all of that. Swan, I hope you rest well." His soft smile is enough to cause her to smile straight back at him. He approaches her, his hand moving to the back of her head, his mouth descending on her forehead. "By the way, Mary Margaret _may_ or may not drop by tomorrow with cookies for you. _When_ she does, I'd suggest not to eat too many."

 

He doesn't care that Elsa is there noticing their dynamic because Emma Swan means everything to him, and it should be obvious enough they have this... difficult and confusing relationship going on. Maybe not to the rest, but Elsa should be aware enough to realize how they’re awfully close - something like a brother-sister relationship over a doctor-patient one.

 

Her answering groan causes him to chuckle softly before slipping past the both of them to go home, clean himself up in the shower, and have dinner -

 

With rum.

 

.~.

 

After another month, he clears her.

 

He _should_ be ecstatic about her finally being able to leave but -

 

Her nightmares are still something - not as frequent - but still lingering. She has no where to go, no money, no _other_ friends, and definitely no family to support her. So as a friend, as... someone who cares and loves for her, he offers her the spare bedroom in his apartment. It's nothing huge, but it works to have two people occupying it at once. She doesn't jump to the offer even though she accepts it - humble and sincere... and somewhat _hesitant_.

 

They first go shopping and he pays for everything because this is literally a new beginning for her. She doesn't have a single thing - not a single bill or coin, clothes, nothing. And he aches to reach out and embrace her until her future holds something brighter, but everything is neutral at the moment. She hasn't said much about loving him back and he doesn't care, at least, not yet. What he does care is getting her back into society, back down a path, something - anything - for her to express her passion to fit back into this world without any more struggles.

 

He puts up with clothes shopping as if people think he's her boyfriend and simply put, he's not - god, does he wish he were - while he lets her go through the lines of clothes. He doesn't even know what he's setting himself up to, but he notices the movements of hers, as if she's in shame.

 

"Buy what you want," he tells her assuringly, "I've got more money than you think." And it's the truth. He is a doctor, he has a high wage, and he saves a lot of the money for emergencies.

 

Even his assurance doesn't make it any better, still only settling on more basic clothes like t-shirts, a couple of jackets, jeans, sweats, and lingerie. He doesn't push her, doesn't say anything unless she needs his opinion. They hardly utter a word to each other because he can tell she needs time herself to adjust, to get used to this treatment, at least for the time being.

 

A couple days later, he's returning from his extremely late shift. Trudging down the hallway, he hears the muffled sound of weeping until he knocks against her door before cracking it open to find her curled up in the queen sized bed in her t-shirt and sweats.

 

She _hurts_ and he _knows_. He doesn't understand her as much as he'd like to, but he cares more than anything, so he climbs onto the bed - despite himself being drenched in a bit of sweat from the humidity outside - and pulls her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her, giving her a tight squeeze. He can feel the hot tears staining into his white shirt and her hand balled against his chest. He presses his lips into her hair before murmuring incoherent words of comfort to her, his hand rubbing up and down her back soothingly.

 

It takes a bit before she does calm down. And he listens attentively to her ramble and rant, her choked words and broken voice.

 

It's something about not being to find a job - no one is hiring, mainly - and that she feels like she's taking him for granted with all of this, as if she's the one asking for too much when she's not bloody responsible for anything.

 

"No, love, you needn't worry. For one, you're bloody brilliant, you'll find a job sooner or later. Two, I'm the one willing to assist you and if I was annoyed by you being here, or if I was spending too money on you, I would have voiced my complaints long ago." He sighs, his finger getting caught in strands of her blonde hair.

 

"Yeah, but -"

 

"Shut up, Emma," he interrupts. "I love you. I don't care if you don't feel the same, but I'm _going_ to do whatever it takes to help you, to make you happy whether you want me or not."

 

Her face immediately softens, a defeated sigh coming out of her mouth. "Lay with me?"

 

"Whatever you want, Swan," he murmurs, turning the light off from the nearby lamp off.

 

He listens to her breathing and he sees the tension dissipate from her face once she's asleep. He knows there will possibly be night terrors on the brink, but it's the least of his concerns for now.

 

"I'll be here," he promises quietly into the stillness of the night.

 

 


	35. iii. before the rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because my friend persuaded me. I'm weak. But this is the last chapter, haha.

It's been more times than he can count where he finds hers struggling to sleep or her wandering the streets of town without even telling him of her whereabouts. He worries gravely for her, but she's been faring better than the first couple of weeks of her discharge from the hospital though. He's not home sometimes and he feels guilty about leaving her all alone - not so fond of the idea - but duty calls.

 

He finally convinces David to give her a job in the enforcement field and when he tells her about it, her face lights up briefly before she's hugging him tightly, muttering "thank you," over and over. He sighs contently at her relief, pressing a kiss into her hair.

 

They don't speak as often as he'd like to. He has his job, she has hers... it's really just when he gets home and she's on the couch, an arm carelessly slung over her face and her legs outstretched over the arm of couch does he actually end up holding a conversation with her. He's afraid of letting her go though, especially because she's getting the hang of everything again.

 

It's ridiculous about the amount of times he's had to carry her to bed because she was exhausted from the training David has been putting her through to compensate for her lack of knowledge for enforcement. He chuckles at her stories and her complaints before she starts complaining about how _he's_ mocking her for the stuff she's going through. He simply shakes his head and tucks her into bed like she's his child - they're the same fucking age, jesus - kisses her forehead, and shuts the light off. There are certain times where he's about to step out of her room does she request for his presence next to her.

 

He obeys like a bloody puppy after he gets himself prepared for bed because he'd do anything for her. Maybe he's too soft on her, but she's already claimed a spot in his heart, her being the canvas he'd never want to sign and sell, her being the harmony to his melody.

 

There's... a line between them. He doesn't drape his arm over her middle or bury his nose in the wave of blonde hair no matter how much he _wants_ to when it first begins. Their backs face each other, but at some point through the night, his body seems to do exactly the opposite and then she's pressed against his chest and he can _feel_ her breathing and he can _smell_ the coconut fragrance in her hair from the shampoo she uses. He sees that shampoo every day he showers set next to his, taking up the unused space. He usually gets up before she does because his shifts start _extremely_ early until the late afternoon.

 

That allows him to escape before she realizes how he holds her in the middle of the night without her consent. He tends to make fresh coffee and set it on the table in her room with a note stuck onto the front that simply says: "Good morning, Swan. I hope you have a spectacular day. - KJ"

 

He knows she gets the messages and coffee because every time he returns home late to grab himself a glass of water, her mug is washed out clean and set in the corner of the counter against the wall, and his glass has a note that says: "Thank you, again. - ES"

 

And well, sometimes her messages are longer. The words scribbled across the sticky notes in black sharpie about the latest case or how Mary Margaret sometimes drops by the busy station with a pack of treats that has half of the entire office scrambling to their feet.

 

.~.

 

Well, of course his heart breaks when there's an emergency call on an officer getting shot in the shoulder because he knows for some reason it's _her_.

 

And yes, he's right.

 

(He wishes he wasn't right, though.)

 

Her shirt is soaked in red from her shoulder to her arm, her breathing ragged as she's trying to keep herself up. Once again, he's treating to her. He feels like his breath keeps getting stuck in the back of his throat, as if his diaphragm refuses to open up and let his lungs breathe. His chest is heavy, he can feel everything tighten inside of him just at the sight.

 

Even after sedating her and getting rid of that bullet lodged into her shoulder, she cries out in pain. At the most, he feels lighter once the damn thing is out of her shoulder and no longer proving to be danger to her.

 

By the time she's quietly inside one of the rooms again, resting, he talks to David.

 

"She took the bullet for me, I _told_ her to stay behind but she wouldn't listen to me," David explains in a rush, cupping his face in his hands. "She's okay, right?"

 

"Aye." He nods, patting David on the shoulder. "She'll be up in a couple of hours, however I reckon she's going to have some nasty pain in her shoulder even with the sedatives she was put on. I don't think she's quite keen on the fact she's back in the hospital again, either."

 

"God damn it," David mutters. "I'm just glad she's okay."

 

"As am I, mate."

 

"You care a lot for her, right?" David asks, dropping his hands down to his sides. "That's why you decided to work here instead of some bigshot hospital somewhere else."

 

Nodding quietly, he explains everything to him. "I love her, and she may not love me, but it doesn't stop me from fighting for her heart." He sighs, glancing back down the empty hallway. "My brother, Liam, once told me a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets - I suppose I carry all that pride and honour in myself because of him. It makes me want to fight for her, whether she reciprocates the same feelings or not."

 

"She's a lucky woman to have a guy like you _that_ devoted to her for so long," David teases, his lips curling into a small smile. A smile Killian hasn't seen the entire day until now. "I should probably get back to the station and report in but I don't want to leave yet."

 

"You should go," he quietly encourages, "she won't be up for a while, you can come back by then."

 

David reluctantly leaves and Killian huffs a breath before turning his way back down the hallway into Emma's assigned room. She's still fast asleep, the white sheets branded around her, her shoulder wrapped in a gauze. He closes the door quietly behind him, approaching her slowly. He can't fight the urge of wanting to touch her again, so he brushes hair away from her face and leans down, his mouth making contact with her forehead. He lingers for quite awhile before he pulls back, his eyes meandering over her body before stopping to stare at the shoulder he had operated on a mere hour ago.

 

His fingers manage to graze her cheek gently, the skin smooth under his hand. Sucking in a sharp breath, he turns around and hikes out of the room because he can't stand to see her injured again. He knows she's fine, he's the one who's operated on her shoulder to take that little piece of metal out that pierced her shoulder. He knows her condition isn't life-threatening, but there's something about seeing her in a hospital bed again that strikes up the worry inside of him.

 

A couple hours later he checks in on her and she's stirring, her head moving languidly back and forth before her eyes flutter open, as if she's adjusting to the light. She takes the briefest glance at him before she groans, attempting to sit up. He clasps her hand and pushes her back down, advising it's best not to move just yet. He can tell by the look on her face that she's screaming to protest, but he is her doctor, and he's doing everything in his ability to make sure she recovers quickly and safely.

 

"So, I heard you took quite the hit for Dave, love."

 

"Ugh, shut up," she groans, rubbing her eyes with her uninjured hands. "I couldn't let him take it - I mean - he's the Captain."

 

He hums quietly, shrugging a little bit before he drags himself a seat and plops down into who. "I see where you're coming from," he says, tilting his head to the side slightly, "but that was quite the risk. It could have hit anywhere else, Swan, perhaps somewhere _vital_."

 

"It was a cheap shot," she responds, "and I was willing to take it."

 

"You know, Emma, I'm not particularly angry at you for what you had done, but I'm angry about the fact there was a possibility of actually losing you." He shuts his eyes for the slightest moment before opening them back up. "Despite the actuality with it being a mild injury, I couldn't bear the thought of losing you to something _I_ got you into." He doesn't feel heat bubble in his stomach, or the thoughts swirling in his mind. He's just frustrated.

 

She sighs. "Sorry to make you worry," she retorts quietly, casting her eyes away from his. "I just... I knew that when I took the shot you would be the one to... well - I don't fucking know - save me? You did it once, I knew you'd do it again, and if not, you'd fight harder."

 

"Swan -"

 

"Just hear me out before I pass out from the killer pain in my shoulder," she interjects, raising her hand to stop him. "You love me. I acknowledge that, and well... I... _I love you, too_. I don't know when it happened, but you were doing anything you could to get me back on my feet, and that's honestly the _sweetest_ thing anyone's ever done for me, okay? I wasn't used to it; I felt guilty and felt shame because I felt like I was feeding off of you unfairly." She pauses and winces before turning back to him. "If that was you who was getting shot, I probably - no, I would - take the shot for you. You deserve better, Kill -"

 

"No, love, I don't deserve better..." he trails off, running a hand through his hair at her sudden confession. "I just want _you_. Broken or whole - bloody hell - I want just _you_." It's all too much for him to handle now. He was not prepared to hear any of that, and hell, she just said it. She said she loves him and yet he's stumbling over his words like a nervous businessman who's afraid of his plan failing. "If - well, if I'd have failed at treating you, I don't think I'd be able to live with myself."

 

"What would you have done?" Her voices is nearly silent, hovering over a whisper.

 

He shrugs, scratching behind his ear. "Drown myself in rum, quit my job, _gods_... I don't know. When you love someone for over ten years, it's not something easy to fathom if they just up and leave one day."

 

"And I'm worth... all of that?"

 

"Aye."

 

She groans. "Fuck, I _really_ am in love with you."

 

(His heart skips a beat when she says she loves him. He didn't anticipate it to happen. Not today. Not tomorrow. In the future, yes.

 

But, what the hell?

 

She loves him.)

 

"Is that such a bad thing, darling?" he asks, his lips quirking into a small smile.

 

Her signature eye roll pops out. "I guess not," she mutters. "But if you don't mind, _Dr. Jones_ , I really want to sleep. You don't happen to have more pain killers, do you?"

 

"I believe I do," he exclaims, standing up, "but maybe I'll let you suffer a bit more."

 

" _Killian_."

 

" _Emma_."

 

"Give me the goddamn pain killers or I will have David shoot you instead."

 

He furrows his brows before he shakes his head with light laughter, descending to press his lips against her lips. "As my _lovely_ patient wishes," he whispers against her mouth, his lips still tingling from the kiss.

 

No matter how small that kiss was, the feeling does not brush off at all.


	36. write the change

Killian Jones has one hell of an imagination.

 

But he doesn’t put it to good use anymore, and as his editor, Emma finds is difficult to keep up with his lack of dedication nowadays. He doesn’t commit to submitting his work on deadlines when she needs them, he doesn’t email or text her about being late. He doesn’t do _anything_ anymore - ever since Liam died a month ago, he’s gone downhill - and she worries for him.

 

More than she should, probably.

 

Sometimes his office, well his house, reeks of alcohol and sex, but she doesn’t say anything and this is killing her. She aches for him since she understand his pain, his loss. She’s been left alone too many times to count and that’s the reason she can’t leave Killian alone. Not because he’s a famous writer or because she wants her payment from Belle - he means something to her and they’ve been a team for seven months now and Liam’s death is coming between them.

 

One day she wants to reach out for him, to touch him, grasp onto his arm and shake some sense into him, but other days she can’t find it in herself besides letting him mourn the death of his beloved brother.

 

“He needs to get back on track, Miss Swan,” Belle French, her boss, tells her one day. “It’s disappointing for him to be going down this path, I think only you can help him. He’s grown rather close to you, hasn’t he?”

 

And she’s right in some way. But he’s never seen her more than a editor, despite the reckless flirtatious remarks and his devilish smirks. He gives those looks to everyone, he brings women back from bars for one night stands, there’s no way she can technically do much to help him. Her only option is to technically just continue to encourage ( _push_ ) him into getting things complete on time, otherwise he’ll ruin his entire career - his life.

 

“Killian, I hope you know this isn’t what Liam would have wanted of you,” she finally admits one day, swallowing in fear of his response.

 

He grumbles something before sighing, shaking his head tiredly. “I’m well aware, Swan,” he mutters.

 

“Come on, you write amazing fairytale stories that no one has ever even thought of. I know that. I read your work and edit, make suggestions, I _criticize_ your writing for you, but you’ve got to make submission deadlines,” she says, complimenting and pleading simultaneously. “At first, this… was just a business transaction. I _needed_ the money to keep scraping by. Lo and behold I get offered a job to edit the famous Killian Jones’ work and I took it up because, as I said, I needed the money. But now it’s more than that - I want you to make a living out of your life instead of sulking around in rum and women every night. I want you to be happy.”

 

He stares at her. Emma sees the bags under his eyes, she sees the heavy eyelids, sees the clench of his jaw which is a habit of his. And she’s picked up on all the small things and habits about Killian Jones in the last seven months and it frightens the living hell out of her to even care about any of that stuff.

 

“If you give up now -” she sighs, shaking her head in despair, “- you lose everything. Is that worth it, Killian? After all the effort you’ve made, after what your brother encouraged you to do all of your life, is it worth dropping it all and being a shell of nothing? That isn’t the Killian Jones I know. The one I know laughs and smiles with his big heart, makes corny jokes, and devotes himself to writing like nothing else. But… if you really don’t want to do this anymore, then I guess I can tell Belle.” She sighs. “I’ll leave it at that for today.”

 

Her smile is tight (and it _hurts_ her cheeks to have to force herself to smile in front of him now) before she makes her way out of his house, fighting the urge to go back there and knock sense into him, to _yell_. Calm words is the only approach she can use at the moment, anything as convincing as possible even though they’re probably not going to do much.

 

Although her friend Mary Margaret is probably going to give her another pep speech about hope over the phone later when she asks how things are going. (Things are going _not fine_ and she’s frustrated that she even feels like this, but she wants him to be successful, wants him to value all of what he’s done.) And Ruby will be worse, she’ll tell her to let loose when she can’t let loose because it’s a serious matter that she wants to get solved.

 

In any case, all she does when she gets back to her apartment is slipping into the shower and standing under the spray of the water for twenty minutes, contemplating about all the possible outcomes of what’s going to happen. Even after that, she throws herself onto her bed and stares at the ceiling because the situation she’s found herself in is rather aggravating. Hours later when it’s nearing midnight and she can’t get herself to sleep, it sparks in her to check her email.

 

She has emails from a whole lot of people, but the one that catches her attention is the one that says the sender is from “Killian Jones” at 09:57PM. Emma has never opened an email faster in her life.

 

It’s a draft, a draft of his new story.

 

_I’ve been a bloody fool. I hope this lives up to expectations… or not. Mark it up all you want, love. - Killian_

 

No matter how cliché the story is, how it’s about the stubborn princess and the - dashing - pirate meet and go on broad adventures, the words typed across the screen, words that are coming out of _his_ mind, _his_ world, is mesmerizing to read. It’s where she gets sucked into his world, where she’s completely immersed in what he’s written. Killian Jones is making a comeback apparently, unexpected as it is, but it’s happening and she’s _fucking happy_ and _proud_ of him for endeavoring past it all in the end.

 

There are mistakes here and there, grammatical errors mostly, but that’s not much of issue for her to correct. She stays up through the early hours to go through every sentence, every piece of dialogue, every bit of details he’s provided in the story. And by the time she’s done editing it and hits send with a satisfying tap on her mousepad, she practically passes out on her laptop.

 

Morning, well _afternoon_ , comes to her in a blur when she wakes up in a bundle of a mess on her bed, her laptop nearly about to fall off the edge, her arms slung over her face.

 

She has an incoming message on an open tab (surprisingly her laptop did not die of energy) when she opens it up.

 

_**Killian Jones: Thank you, Emma.** _

 

For once, she smiles and it isn’t forced like earlier.

 

_**Emma Swan: Not a problem. Jones.** _

 

_**. . .** _

 

The three dots indicating him typing a response has her slightly worried, but then she also can’t find it in herself to do so because he’s changing, she can feel the difference, the shift in his behaviour.

 

_**Killian Jones: You’ve replied quite late and I noticed how early you sent the edited draft back. Swan, did you stay up to edit? You know you didn’t have to do that.** _

 

She yawns as she reads his message before she types back quickly, her fingers still moving with the flow anyways.

 

_**Emma Swan: Couldn’t sleep in the first place, trust me, it’s nothing. But I did sleep in. I sort of passed out after editing.** _

__

_**Killian Jones: Bloody hell, love, don’t do that.** _

__

_**Emma Swan: And what will you do?** _

 

_**Killian Jones: I will - uninvited as I am - barge into your apartment and play the role to make sure you sleep instead of staying up in the early hours reviewing my work word for word.** _

__

_**Emma Swan: Tempting, but I always have 911 at my disposal.** _

__

_**Killian Jones: You’re out of your mind.** _

 

_**Emma Swan: I just woke up, cut me some slack.** _

 

.~.

 

He doesn’t look that much better the next day when she goes to check up on him and his writing, but he’s definitely working, his laptop open, a notepad sitting beside him, and a glass of _water_ instead of rum at arms length.

 

He smiles at her, _finally_ _genuine_ , and it seems like he’s gotten his life straight, cleaning most of his house up. The air no longer stinks like what it used to, in fact, everything feels fresh, and perhaps this is exactly what he’s needed, a fresh start. He’s giving himself that fresh start, but whether it was her words helping him change or not, it’s a relief to know he’s finally giving everything a shot again.

 

“Defy the laws of stereotypes,” she suggests, spinning a pen in her hands. “Don’t make it such an easy journey,” she continues, “like, establish a higher level of difficulty for the both of them to face. Not just the usual obstacles, you know? People don’t want to read the overused ‘pirate saved the princess and they sailed the seven seas.’ Nothing goes easily like that, at least, not in reality.”

 

He hums quietly as if he’s taking her suggestion into consideration. “You’re quite right, love,” he agrees eventually. She’s never been one to approve of his endearing pet names, but whatever keeps him afloat is enough for her. “But maybe some people do prefer the common uses. Some people don’t like over complications.”

 

She groans, dropping her head back on the couch. “Of course you’ve got to agree then disagree.”

 

“Sorry not sorry,” he quips, a smirk playing at his lips that makes her want to scream and rip her hair out because - _fuck_ \- he’s still handsome and hot and it’s unfair for her now to even realize this. “But don’t worry, I’ll make altercations still.”

 

“Of course you will,” she mutters, flipping through the remaining pages still sitting in her hand. “You should work on the chapter now since you’ve got most of it planned out.”

 

“I will. Thank you for the help, Swan.”

 

She shrugs. “That’s why I’m here.”

 

At some point she closes her eyes and completely drifts off to another world, sleep claiming her quickly from the few hours she’s originally been running on.

 

When she wakes, she realizes the lights is on the completely wrong side of the room, that her sheets feel different, and _that’s_ when she remembers she never ended up going back to her place. It smells like him, the familiar cologne. The numbers illuminating off the clock on the nightstand next to his bed says it’s 7:45AM, and she slept through the entire night in his bed (on assumption, no, she _knows_ , that he carried her to his room without a second doubt).

 

The hallways smells like coffee when she comes out, rubbing her eyes from the remainder of sleep stuck in it while finding out Killian has made coffee and there’s a mug waiting at the coffee table for her, and he’s sitting there at his chair, laptop on the desk, writing like he’s gotten some new found inspiration.

 

He turns at the sound of her movement, she assumes.

 

“Sleeping Beauty is up,” he teases with a small smile, his arm resting on the back of his chair. “I didn’t have the heart to wake you up yesterday night,” he says coyly, scratching behind his ear. (A nervous tick she’s discovered.) “You’ve been putting up with my horrible behaviour, I figured I’d let you get your rest after editing so much.”

 

To be honest, she doesn’t know how to respond to his kindness. “Well, thank you for the coffee,” she says, “and for letting me sleep. In your bed. Really comfortable bed, by the way.”

 

He laughs loudly, the sound rich and real. “Something you’re always welcome to, love.”

 

She doesn’t realize it until three hours later when he treats her for lunch is that she’s falling in love with him. Not the ideal situation at all, but he’s changing and she can’t help but see how he’s trying to be better because at some point, her words have worked. How he’s working, being the gentleman he is again, making deadlines, asking for help again when he needs it (not to mention the Killian Jones smugness is reemerging, too). It feels surreal to her at the moment, but then it doesn’t all the same.

 

They exchange ideas and thoughts about the possibilities of the next couple of events in his story over fries, onion rings, and hot cocoa. With cinnamon. (Something he apparently remembers about her now.)

 

He pays the bill (on his insistence) and then walks her back to her apartment.

 

“Next chapter is due by Monday at three p.m,” she reminds him, turning to face him in the foyer of her apartment.

 

“I know,” he mutters, “I’ll try to get it sent to you as soon as I can, Swan.”

 

The smile that’s been on her face for a majority of the day widens at his response. “Good.”

 

.~.

 

He’s late on submission but he does get it in anyways with an extended apology at the beginning of his chapter.

 

_I got into a bit of a stump earlier today, love, sorry for the late submission. No promises I’ll get the next one in on time either considering my writing is still not on par with what it used to be, but I’m slowly getting there. Perhaps we can meet again sometime this week and you can help me with that expansive brain you have? (Besides, you can encourage me to write again and maybe you’ll go into your unconscious state of sleep so I can have you in my bed again.) - Killian_

 

She scoffs at his message before scrolling down and reading his work again. In any case, he’s bringing out his expansive brain of vocabulary that she usually doesn’t have a tolerance for.

 

_**Emma Swan: Chatelaine? You could have said Queen.** _

__

_**Killian Jones: Where’s your sense of imagination, love? She is the mistress of the castle, same thing.** _

__

_**Emma Swan: Your stories are just not for children.** _

__

_**Killian Jones: Of course not. Things get rather morbid later, at least, that’s what I have planned inside of my head. Not intended for children in the first place. (;** _

 

She should be used to his random use of smilies once in awhile, but that placement of a winkey face with her current (stupid, growing) feelings for him doesn’t make this any better. She groans before entering in a message that ends their conversation for the day,

 

_**Emma Swan: Whatever floats your boat. And NO ONE USES THE WORD HUBRIS, KILLIAN.** _

 

_**Killian Jones: Better fix it, then. (:** _

 

She’s going to kill him when they meet again.

 

.~.

 

One day, she asks him what caused him to change, to make that decision that he’ll stop with the rum and the women.

 

She’s been prepared for this, _knew_ the answer all along, well at least the basis of it, but with him, of course he spills out a whole lot of words to describe it.

 

“It was because of you, Swan, because you reminded me what both my life is about, what Liam would have wanted.” He takes a deep breath. “You reminded me that I wasn’t happy with my life, that I was the only one who could make the change for the better. So I did. I owe it to both you and Liam.” He shrugs and she can see the faint red at the tips of his ears. “And myself, also. But thank you, Emma, you’ve been helping me out of the dark.”

 

She’s beyond surprised to hear that extent of his response, but she grins and nods, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his cheek on impulse. On fucking _impulse_. “Sorry, I - I’m really happy for you, that’s all,” she stutters, stumbling on her words like a love struck teenager who’s just had her first kiss or something. “And proud.”

 

A big grin spreads across his lips. "Thank you, love," he says, biting his lower lip, something she notices and she shouldn't because it's distracting her. "I threw away precious time but you're bringing that back. Is Lady Belle satisfied with my work?"

 

"Uhm... yes, she is I think," she murmurs, "said I'd even get a raise, even though I didn't want it."

 

"Why not?"

 

"Because I don't deserve it?"

 

His eyebrows knit together, the lines creasing on his forehead. "You deserve it."

 

And when his hand moves up to brush some stray strands of hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing her cheek gently, she shudders under his touch, shutting her eyes. She shouldn't fraternize with the man she's working with, no, she _shouldn't_ , but it doesn't mean she will. The warning alerts in her mind are quiet, shortly being cut off by any signals except pleasure and surprise when he dips his head down a presses a sweet, yet gentle kiss to her lips.

 

"You deserve it," he repeats again, a little quieter, his breath hot against her skin. "Whether you want it or not, you're getting a raise because you deserve far more than living in a rathole apartment." That's when he leans in to kiss her again, a little more desperate this time even though it doesn't lack the love she searches for.

 

She's melting and if his hands hadn't eventually slipped to her waist, resting gently, but firm, at her hips, her knees would have buckled into nothing and she would have fallen by now.

 

" _Emma_ ," he breathes eventually after pulling apart. It sounds like a prayer and it makes her heart swell in so many ways.

 

She doesn't trust herself to speak, knowing she's going to screw up, that she's going to get lost in the words, knowing the words will die on the tip of her tongue. She relishes the moment being held in his arms securely, remembers the taste of his lips and how they feel against hers. Being kissed by Killian Jones is better than any other man she's ever kissed before and it scares her but doesn't push her away. Her mind isn't telling her to run.

 

Which isn't a surprise. She's grown close to Killian, more casual than anything, but apparently he's already begun to fill the gap in her heart that has been left with abandonment and pain before. She may be into literature, into editing work and being _smart_ , but she just doesn't trust herself to utter a word, not when she knows looking into his god damn mesmerizing blue eyes was already a mistake because she can feel her resolve shrink.

 

“You know your silence would probably chase away most men after they’ve kissed you,” he jokes playfully. “Anything to be said, Swan?”

 

“Uh, yeah, well as much as I’m good with writing words, it does not equate the skills to me being able to verbalize them. Speaking of words, you should get back to writing them.”

 

His face drops, disappointment showing on his face. “Pushing me away?”

 

She scoffs. “Get back on track, Jones, we can celebrate later tonight.” To assure him, she stands up on her tip-toes and kisses his cheek with a smile. “Be patient.”

 

(She does end up in his bed again.)

 

( _Maybe_ with him cuddled up next to her, his arm draped over her middle while he recites lines of dialogue from his work-in-progress book with some plot-twists here and there that make her snort without the containment of laughter. And if anything, she ignores the way his arm tightens around her when he drifts to sleep. She’s never pegged him to be a protective one, but clearly that’s not the case.)

 

Him waking in the middle of the night with sudden inspiration to write is something she’s going to need to get used to though. It’s easy for her to notice his presence fade next to her.

 

 


	37. the voice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Captain Swan Au where Killian is a pop singer and coach on The Voice and Emma is a country singer who joins the competition. Bonus point if in the blind auditions all four chairs turns for her, and she picks Graham, who also sings country. - Anonymous

When you live the country, you sing the country.

 

(Well, everything else too, but it’s just mainly a focus on country.)

 

Emma Nolan born to David Nolan and Mary Margaret Nolan... well, they own a farm. Whenever she helps out with the horses, sets up tents, deals with the actual picking of fruits and vegetables, she does nothing else but sing to make time pass by, and most of all, it’s both entertaining and fun, a passion that grows.

 

Plus, conveniently she plays guitar on her spare time.

 

But truthfully, she’s not aware of her own abilities, not when she’s busy out there on the farm or galloping a horse around. That isn’t her job - to sing, that is - her job is to help her parents out and to take care of Henry who’s only 11.

 

In spite of all her protests, her parents think she has a wonderful voice that could be put to good use, and it’s not that she doesn’t want to, it’s just that she doesn’t know where to start. When Elsa tells her there’s a good deal of her getting into The Voice, that’s when it hits her. If she wins this competition (although she highly doubts that herself), she can use the prize money on the farm. For her family because that’s exactly what she needs.

 

And Henry? _God_ , Henry.

 

Her son is the brightest kid all around town, always optimistic and hopeful and she _swears_ her mother is rubbing off on him that it’s beginning to be a force to be reckoned with. And he loves animals so horseback riding has become his new past-time whenever he’s done his homework and has nothing better to do but hang around.

 

So when it happens, when they take her up for auditions and she’s nervous but also excited for every reason in the world like she should be, she knows that she’s up against heavy competition. She’s aware of the coaches this year around. Graham Humbert, country singer, Killian Jones for pop, Gold who goes with rock and then Ariel who also is a pop singer. Each of them are great, except Gold - he’s just weird and odd in all ways but popular in the music industry.

 

The only unfortunate thing is that she’s alone in this battle, that Henry and her parents are all the way back at the farm while she’s in California after being accepted into the show.

 

It’s big news though when she calls back to tell her parents that she’s in, that she can maybe stand a chance against all the other contestants. Even if it’s unlikely, she may as well take for the good of the experience anyways.

 

None of this is what she’s used to though. Sure she’s dealt with the city life before she had Henry, the 9 years spent being a bail bondsperson, but being back in a place like California, being on the set of where The Voice is filmed, it’s just… _different_ \- in a good way, of course.

 

It’s only been a couple of days here and there but she already misses the farm. Misses being up right at the sunset to go feed the horses, misses sitting out on the front porch with Henry half-awake next to her, misses the ridiculously good food her mother can conjure. It’s not that it matters though, she’ll be back there eventually - soon.

 

But damn, it’s terrifying on stage when there is a crowd of people to her left, right, and front. And the four red seats turned around facing the audience doesn’t make her nerves settle any better. So she imagines, just imagines she’s playing her guitar and singing songs to her family and friends, to anyone who’s come by before and wanted to take a ride on the horses, out for a trip, and by the fire.

 

And so there she begins playing her rendition of “Yellow” by Coldplay. Who doesn’t like a little Coldplay?

 

It’s easy for her to get immersed in the song, for her to just strum the notes and sing along without worrying about what anyone things.

 

But damn, does she gets brought back into reality quickly when the sound of a chair turning catches her off guard. She doesn’t stumble on her lyrics though, doesn’t screw up any of the music she’s practiced for ages.

 

_Your skin_

_Oh yeah your skin and bones_

_Turn into something beautiful_

_You know_

_You know I love you so_

_You know I love you so_

 

And that face that’s staring at her, the face of Killian Jones with a smile and his blue eyes, things she can’t even attempt to ignore. Though it’s not enough, not enough to break down the confidence she has because once one turns, everything becomes so much easier, a relief is safe to say. She wonders if Henry and her parents are watching in the living room, cheering happily for her.

 

_I swam across_

_I jumped across for you_

_Oh what a thing to do_

_'Cause you were all yellow_

_I drew a line_

_I drew a line for you_

_Oh what a thing to do_

_And it was all yellow_

 

And Jesus, then Graham turns around and Ariel follows shortly after and she’s inexplicably happy at the moment, a smile playing at her lips as the lyrics continue to flow along with the music in the background. The only one who doesn’t turn is Gold and it’s not like she cares about that anyways when the last bit is over and she’s standing there a _little_ speechless and out of it. The crowd is cheering and she doesn’t know what to do, _who_ to choose in such a short period of time, but she gulps and takes a breath.

 

“I think I’ll go with... Graham.”

 

And she tries not to see the jealousy flare in Killian’s eyes (how does she even notice - she doesn’t have an answer), but Graham is the genre of music she specializes in, so of course she’s going to choose the one who seems likely to benefit her the most. If the blind auditions wasn’t enough, she already knows the battle up ahead of her, especially while she watches from backstage, the other singers all talented.

 

.~.

 

It’s weird.

 

Like _really_ weird.

 

She bonds with Graham and the others on her team quite a bit. Graham’s a nice guy. Handsome, sweet, genuine, and he knows what he’s doing. Apparently he and Killian are rivals but also good mates, which is sort of confusing at the least, but hey, she’s not complaining.

 

“Always ask yourself if the lyrics come alive,” he advises, walking back and forth in the studio. “How does it make you feel? If nothing, figure out ways to make it more enjoyable for yourself, to make it come alive if it doesn’t suffice.”

 

It’s good advice.

 

What’s _weirder_ is the fact Anna is on this team with her and so at least they’re already friends which makes things easier. It’s just that Elsa didn’t tell her that her sister was going to join the show too.

 

Things are a little awkward though between her and Graham. There’s _tension_ in the air that she’s familiar with and hates, so before things get into even odder spots, she excuses herself to the restroom, shutting the door quietly behind her, only satisfied when she hears the click of the door. She’s escaped for the time being, but things only get worse. She runs - _literally_ \- into Killian Jones, his hands pulling at her elbows to keep her from stumbling back.

 

Yup, _weird_.

 

“Emma,” he says, “you’re the one who chose Humbert.” His hands drop from her elbows.

 

It’s hard to keep her cool when she sweeps her gaze up to him, taking one step back to create distance. “Uhm, yeah,” she replies, the tips of her fingers tingling with some sensation, not one she’s very familiar with. “Didn’t offend you with my choice, did I?” she asks, trying to ease the seriousness.

 

He laughs, low and rich, a sound she thinks she’ll revel in for awhile if she hears that again. “Of course not, love. He’s been my competition for years - stolen plenty of the talented ones I try and go for.”

 

Now he’s definitely making it harder for her to ignore him and his stupid (but admittedly interesting) pet names. She bites on her lower lip before glancing over her shoulder at the door to the room she just came from. For one, she doesn’t want to go back there for at least another five minutes; it's not like she needed to go the washroom, it was just means of her escape. But, she also doesn’t want to stand here for five minutes and create small talk with Killian because his blue eyes with a playful glint and his toothy smile already has brought her down to her knees - figuratively.

 

“Don’t you have your group to be training?” she finally asks.

 

He shakes his head. “Not at the moment, no,” he answers. “Break,” she clarifies, “we took ten for them to get rest. No point in having them strain their voices, that’d be an unfortunate accident that I would like to avoid for my students.”

 

“Right,” she murmurs.

 

Graham doesn’t really give them breaks. Different methods of teaching.

 

“I must say that you seem like you’re not keen on heading back into that room.”

 

“No, no, I was going to the washroom,” she quickly says, deflecting how he sees right through her. “But… well, y’know.”

 

“Ah,” he hums with a nod of his head, “well, I best let you go then. It was a pleasure meeting and talking to you, Emma. See you around?”

 

“Yeah. It was nice talking to you too,” she says.

 

She tries to ignore the small smile on his face and the hopeful look in his eyes.

 

She fails.

 

.~.

 

She hates having to go against her own teammates, but that’s part of the second round.

 

There’s a missed call with a voice message from her parents and Henry wishing her good luck.

 

Long story short, she wins but the entire time her eyes keep drifting between Killian and Graham and he notices off course, but Graham just has his lips pressed together in a smile, nodding along with the song. In the end, he sends her a thumbs up and she sighs of relief, her chin hitting her chest.

 

In the next round, she gets put to compete against Anna, and she really wishes it wasn’t going to happen, but they’re singing their individual songs against each other and Graham has to choose between either of them. Stakes are high by this point because none of the other coaches can steal during this round, so if Graham chooses Anna over her, she’s going home. Game over.

 

It’s not that she doesn’t believe faith, it’s just that she’s never been one on the side with it.

 

When she’s exiting the studio for the day, she sees Killian who’s talking to Graham, the both of them laughing and smiling. And the view makes her smile too. _They’re closer than I thought_ , she thinks. Just as she’s going to turn on her heels to avoid interrupting them, the familiar voice calls her over anyways. It’s inevitable when it comes to these two. Sure they’re both good looking… but something drags her more toward Killian than Graham - that should mean _something_ \- not that she knows why.

 

“Hey, Emma,” Graham greets.

 

Killian is smiling as he says, “Hello, love.”

 

“Hitting on my team member?” Graham says, nudging him in the shoulder.

 

Killian raises an eyebrow, shaking his head. “Oh, _no_ , Humbert, that’s bad form. She’s all yours.”

 

Glancing between the two of them, she rolls her eyes with a exhale out of her nose. In any case, she knows that statement of Killian’s is wrong. The few times they’ve talked, he flirts shamelessly with her and she doesn’t stop him and _maybe_ she’s leading him on, but he’s good company. She feels comfortable around him, better than she does than being around Graham.

 

But this is conflicting. Hanging out with Killian _and_ Graham? It’s contradictory in her book. There’s this line she’s yet to pass and right now she’s on the verge of passing it because she sort of wants to run out of there because of the ever growing tension she already has with Graham. But Killian, he’s different and she doesn’t want to leave just yet.

 

“So, Humbert tells me why you’ve joined the competition. I must say that’s very generous on your part, Emma,” Killian compliments.

 

She shrugs, having nothing much to say. “I mean… it’s just the first thing that comes up in my mind when I think of what I can do with the money.”

 

“And I say that’s a bloody brilliant plan you have, love.”

 

“Thanks,” she mumbles, already feeling the heat fly to her cheeks. There’s just that something that gets her every time and it’s just unfair. “Anyways, I think I’ll be going.”

 

“Already? Do you have something urgent to attend to?” Graham asks curiously, his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. “Maybe you could join us for lunch.”

 

Her heartbeat is racing because _no_ she shouldn’t accept the offer. She’s here as a god damn contestant on the show who needs to money to help her family and the business, _not_ here to fraternize herself with these men. Friendship is the limit. “No, it’s okay, thanks for the offer though,” she quickly retorts before she flees with a goodbye.

 

But that look of disappointment on Killian’s face isn’t something easy for her to forget. It makes her heart swell in the dangerous way.

 

.~.

 

She just goes for it. Sings her heart out with “Games” by Luke Bryan. For some parts performing the way she wanted it to turn out, just the way she practiced - and she’s sweaty up on stage. The lights flashing down, the heat of the studio, regardless of the air conditioning, the cheer of the audience, the attention of every judge.

 

And while she waits for Graham to make a decision, the blood rushing into her ears, her legs feeling a little bit shaky, she nearly falls to the floor when he announces her name in victory.

 

But she begins to wonder if Graham is only choosing her because of _his feelings_ clouding his true judgement and she hopes not.

 

It’s bittersweet to say at the least when saying farewell to Anna, but they see each other on occasion, so she’s not that sad about it.

 

“Congratulations, love.”

 

It startles her when she glances up, Killian looking down at her with his head tilted to the side, that sweet smile of his meant for her again. She smiles and nods but doesn’t say anything back because she’s _tired_. She’s only been practicing for endless hours and after an entire day of what’s been happening, she’s exhausted. Her sleep schedule is on a loop at the moment.

 

“You’re rather silent today. What’s wrong?”

 

And damn him for having to ask for an answer she doesn’t hold.

 

“Nothing,” she tells him truthfully, “nothing at all, Killian.”

 

“Well then, would it be a long shot if I invited you out for a bit of coffee then?”

 

She certainly doesn’t deny that offer which is probably a mistake.

 

.~.

 

“I have a son,” she blurts out.

 

“How old?”

 

“Eleven,” she answers, taking a sip out of her coffee to calm her nerves.

 

“He must be a good lad, his mother’s got the spirit of a bloody lion.” He chuckles, bringing his own drink to his lips. She’s _trying_ to convince herself this isn’t a date. “Talented as well.”

 

“He’s just got the biggest heart, I think. Always believing in the good, always hopeful,” she tells him, and she doesn’t know _why_ she’s telling him but she is. “Trying to learn guitar, too. I think that’s my fault.”

 

“Well both you and the father must be proud.”

 

And that’s where she winces at the mention of a father because Henry doesn’t have one. She should’ve saw this coming and the worst part is she _did_ , but it still hurts to think about it. “No father,” she quietly answers, casting her eyes out the window of the coffee shop, “he left long before any of it had even begun, so yeah, _I’m_ proud of Henry.”

 

“Bloody fool he is,” Killian remarks with a snarl.

 

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Whatever, he’s gone - the past is the past.”

 

.~.

 

Graham asks her a handful of questions that she doesn’t really want to answer. Yes, he’s a kind guy and all, but she’s not the one she’s got eyes on.

 

It’s fairly obvious by now (and she’s long stopped denying) the fact that she’s attracted to Killian, and if anything, she can tell he’s just as attracted to her (more of refusal to act on it). But things are weird between them because Graham comes here and there, he’s stuck in the middle, things could just get messy, so Killian and Emma stay low on the idea and keep it on a platonic friendship for now.

 

She doesn’t tell her parents or Henry about what’s her status of relationship with _the_ Killian Jones. They don’t need to know anything besides the fact it probably won’t be reality. How could he want _her_? He’s a pop singer, famous, rich, too good for her. She’s just a country girl supporting her family and enjoying all that she has while she has it. There are no more dreams for her to chase, nothing else for her to endeavor after, those were long demolished after Neal.

 

Things… things are rough, though with the competition for the next few weeks it’ll be worse.

 

She’s surprised people are actually voting for her and that these votes total up to her favour. There are some times though where she wins by only a _slither_ which has her blow out a breath of relief to know she’s moving on again. She doesn’t know how long she’ll last, honestly, and by this point she doesn’t even know if she’ll win. She’s worked long and hard for this, she _wants_ the money to invest in the farm and in Henry’s education, but it’s still hard.

 

“You’re not really subtle with not making all that eye contact with Killian, you know?”

 

She groans, turning her head languidly to look at Graham. “What, so you think I like him?”

 

“I certainly think that you definitely don’t not like him.”

 

“It’s nothing,” she denies, shaking her head, “we’re friends.”

 

He laughs. “Right, you expect me to believe that.”

 

Emma stands there idly, her arms resting on top of the large piano that’s usually untouched.

 

“If you like him, why did you choose me to be your coach?”

 

“Because you do country,” she answers simply, “I’d benefit from that. I usually sing country too, I needed something familiar to compare myself with. Killian masters in pop, we don’t mix.”

 

“Emma, sometimes it’s better to branch out from what you’re used to. There are techniques that even I don’t know that _he_ knows - you could have improved yourself more with him, to be honest.” Graham chuckles, shrugging lightly. “I’m rooting for you to win in the end though, your actions - plans - with that money is quite honourable.”

 

“It sounds like you’re trying to hook me up with him.”

 

“I’m not denying the fact I’m trying to tell you the truth. He likes you. He asks about you everytime I get together with him for a drink or something.”

 

She sighs, resting her chin on top of her folded arms. “I can’t, though.” And usually she feels weird air between her and Graham, but tonight, it’s free, like she can tell him anything in the world and she _trusts_ him. Bonding with them has been quite the experience within the last two months. “I mean, I’m heading back to the farm after all of this. He… he belongs in this musical spotlight. I’m not fit for that stuff. I came here for the money to help the business, that’s it. I’m not here for fame or searching for a boyfriend.”

 

“But why don’t you give yourself a bit more? Let yourself have some more? I’ll be honest, I sort of had a crush on you until I realized I stood no chance up against Killian. He always manages to get the ladies, despite the fact we’re both competition of charm and good looks,” Graham says, providing a bit of advice and honest confessions. “I know him well, and if he was to meet the right person, I think he’d throw away everything to be with her if it meant happiness. But _hey_ , I’m just saying that you should think about it.”

 

If he’s trying to say that she’s that “right person” he’s not being very subtle with hinting toward that. (Plus, that’s impossible. They’ve known each other for a little under two months, there’s no way.)

 

Valiant attempt at trying to keep Graham’s words from ringing in her mind.

 

Once again, she fails.

 

.~.

 

Now she's even more self-conscious about how Killian does always look at her during the competition, but he's good at keeping it subtle. With the enthusiastic live audience and the camera's not on him, it's easy for him to be eyeing her up on stage. And it's weird because both men that have or at least had feelings for her are sitting there as both another judge and her coach, which means everything just gets into a jumble of mess she doesn't want to really be apart of.

 

It doesn't get any better, not when she goes back to her hotel and plops down on the queen sized bed with thoughts circling her mind, with the memory of his blue eyes piercing through her, drilling a hole into her brain. She knows how pathetic she's being with denying her feeling for Killian and she's technically not running, not physically at least.

 

Any sense of normal in her life is practically thrown out the window. Who actually goes and befriends them and then begins to... fall in _love_?

 

(She really despises that term, mainly because of the circumstances she's found herself under previously.)

 

Dropping out of the show is not in the cards for her, not when she's _so_ close to getting the $100,000 that could be used for so much.

 

She really doesn't need room service at the moment, but that's not who's at her door when she opens it. Killian is standing there and she's really unlucky today if he's come to see her about the terms of what they're... slowly becoming. Everything is over the top _weird_.

 

"I'm sorry, Emma, but I can't be a gentleman anymore," he quickly says before he's lunging forward.

 

And what the hell?

 

It takes her time to register what's happening and she's not stopping it when she should be, _not_ stopping him when he shuts the door closed with his foot behind him, not stopping how he turns her around and pins her against the door, a hand braced above her head while another is sitting at her waist. His lips move well (too good for his own sake, _Jesus_ ) as she kisses him back because - fuck it, why not? Yeah, she's definitely swooning over Killian Jones and she's _definitely_ interested in him with being more than a friend though it's unlikely it can happen.

 

It's slow and reluctant when he pulls away, she notices, when he rests his forehead against hers, her name softly being whispered which has her on the brink of wanting to both run and take shelter in his arms at the same time.

 

"I want you," he says quietly, "all of you. Even your boy."

 

"Killian, if I win this, I'm going back to the farm, I'm not staying here with you," she tells him, and it makes her heart clench to have to say that because that kiss really proves her wrong with any of what she originally convinced herself. "I like the farm, I like the horses and waking up early, I like the pies and food we have back there. The city life isn't for me."

 

" _When_ you win, I'm going with you."

 

When she searches for the lies in his eyes, anything that could show he's not telling the truth, she's frightened to admit that there isn't a trace of falsity in his statement.

 

"No - look, what about your career?"

 

"I don't bloody care, Emma. I'm rich, I could spend the rest of my life on that farm waking up with you to the rise of the sun, helping you harvest the foods, and I'll die a happy man - the money and fame, it's nothing. I know this is rather abrupt, barging in here and kissing you senseless while confessing I'd do whatever it takes to be with you, but in the last two months I've been _wanting_ you every second of the day and I don't think you leaving and saying goodbye would leave me in a good state." He sighs heavily, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. "I mean it. Everything I've told you, darling, I want it."

 

"And what if things don't work out?" _Because they didn't with Neal._ She just has to ask that question, doubt the relationship when it's only beginning.

 

He smiles, nuzzling her nose with his. "Then we make it work," he promises, "because if anything, I want to get to know you and the lad, even your parents."

 

"I'm not sure my parents are fond on the idea of having you, to be honest."

 

"I promise to at least be a gentleman around them. Plus, I'd do all the labour work if they asked me to, as long as it means getting to spend time with you and your family."

 

"Graham was right," she mutters to herself, closing her eyes. "He told me you would throw away all of this if you found the right person and god knows why you think I'm that person worth throwing everything away for, but I can't stop you, can I?"

 

"He told you that? Well, I can confirm the statement to be true. You're not stopping me, sweetheart."

 

She has to admit that whatever _this_ is progressing too fast for her, but he's said it, she can't stop him.

 

.~.

 

It's so surreal for her standing there after _winning_.

 

It's that she's standing there up on stage stunned to silence, hardly able to comprehend what's happening around her. The lights, the loud cheering of fans, the cameras being on her every move.

 

Killian is grinning and so is Graham, Ariel is clapping with a large smile too, and Gold, well whatever, who cares about him at the moment, she's not really partial to him in any way.

 

And all of a sudden after the party's settled and Killian kisses her discretely in the dark hallway, her lips splitting into a grin because she won, well, things are great. Things only get perfect when she's greeted by her eagerly waiting son and her parents standing behind him when they leave. And _yes_ , she's with Killian and there's this smug look on his face telling her he's the one who planned this little reunion.

 

"You did this?" she asks later while watching Henry babble on about some project in school to the other couple in front of them.

 

"Aye, thought they deserved it, that you deserved it," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. "However I haven't particularly mentioned that I'm leaving with you."

 

"I don't even think they know we're a thing, though. Did you tell them that?"

 

"No. Shall we change that then, love?"

 

She nods eagerly and as he's promised, they're facing it together, even if Mary Margaret will be a bit dramatic and that David will probably want to punch him in the face.

 

Henry certainly doesn't object, but then again he's eleven and only wants her to be happy, and when she tells him Killian does make her happy, he smiles and says, "Then go for it, Mom. It's cool."

 

It doesn't take long before her parents are convinced, too.

 

(Killian treats them all to dinner which has both David _and_ Mary Margaret interested.)

 

.~.

 

(Saying goodbye to Graham and turning down the opportunity to have her own recording contract sort of sucks. But she keeps in contact with him and takes the money since that’s why she was here in the first place.)

 

And everything's worth it in the end when she's able to lean against the doorframe with the storm door kicked open, watching Killian teach Henry how to play guitar on the porch steps.

 

Everything is worth is when she ends up on the couch late at night sharing a slice of pie with him because he's too lazy to get his own, though she knows he intends on bothering her the entire time instead.

 

Everything is worth it when she's in the kitchen early in the morning for a cup of coffee and he comes to wrap his arms around her, asking her to make him a cup too (even though he _knows_ she always does).

 

And when sometimes she ends up waking up late, realizing she needs to drive Henry to school, she runs into Killian (like the first time they met), assuring her he brought him to school already. But the satisfied look on his face when her shoulders sag and she sighs of relief has her wanting to run a tractor over him because he knows how much she worries for Henry.

 

But they act like kids outside themselves. He'll be singing and she'll sing along before he hoses her down with water and hauls her over his shoulder which has her batting and threatening him to put her down. But they get work done on time anyways, even with their fooling around.

 

Graham actually visits sometimes and they all go ride the horses or have a nice dinner. Things aren’t awkward between them anymore, in fact, she thanks Graham for putting some sense into her. “You two are happy, that’s all I ask for.” And it’s great to have another friend who she’d even consider a family member now. Great to know that more came out than what she anticipated.

 

Having joined The Voice without knowing she'd fall ridiculously in love with a man ( _and_ be friends with another) on that show who used to be all fame and dreams was not part of her plan, but sometimes it never does go to plan.

 

 


	38. of children and stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** If you're taking requests, could I please get a daddy!killian and captain charming feelsy fic? One where Snow and Emma have gone out for the day and return to a quiet household? (they spend the day at the loft or Emma's house by the ocean? you choose) Your fics make my day so I'd love it if you wrote me a fic  <3 - in-spirational

“For the one hundredth time, love, I can handle Liam on my own.”

 

She glares at him as if she’s challenging him and he does not need her sass at the moment. “Right,” she drawls.

 

He sighs before he ends up going to wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her in for a quick kiss. "I promise you it'll be handled. Dave is coming over with your brother, isn't he? We can manage."

 

"And that's _exactly_ why I worry," she mumbles against his lips, pressing her forehead to his. He breathes in her scents for the moment until she starts to laugh softly. "You know if you knew what image I have of you and David with the kids is in my head, you'd kill me."

 

A brow quirks up his forehead before he shakes his head in disbelief. "Nothing would make me want to _kill_ you, darling."

 

And she only hums in response before she's tugging him down the hallway of their house by the beach, the quiet, mindful laughter echoing in the hallway that has his lips split into a big grin. She loves her so bloody much he can't put it into enough words, can't show them enough on lazy mornings or exhausted nights. But whatever it is, he's happy with their four year old son who's the light of both of their lives (save for the both of them themselves.)

 

He watches her poke her head into Liam's little bedroom, but then the door's swinging open and the little boy is running into her arms screaming, "Mama, Papa!" _God_ , he loves them so much.

 

"Good morning, Liam," she says with a small grunt, turning around with the boy in his arms.

 

The only thing he has to worry about is how energetic their little one is. "'Morning, laddie, sleep well?"

 

Liam nods eagerly, that smile of his cracking up on his face, _beaming_ in utter joy that always manages to make his day better by the second. Now, _this_ is their own little family, including Henry, but he's spent the night with Regina so that's for another day. But dear god, Liam looks up to Neal, Henry and Roland like they're all his own big brothers, and that makes his heart swell, makes him feel like he's fresh out of the womb himself, seeing his son living a life of happiness with family and love surrounding him wherever he goes.

 

It's refreshing, is one way to put it.

 

"Mama's going to be out with Grandma today," she tells Liam. "Can you handle a day with your Papa, Grandpa, _and_ Neal?"

 

The boy is literally bouncing in her arms and he bursts out with a chuckle of laughter, ruffling their son's hair. "The lad can't wait, clearly. You on the other hand, my love, needs to know that I will be capable of handling him regardless of what's to come." He pokes her side gently with his hook, making her flinch. "How about we have breakfast first, and then we can play?"

 

Liam nods and she sets him down, whispering something in his ear.

 

"Okay!" Liam exclaims before he's rushing down the hallway, his adorable little self, giddy as ever.

 

"What did you tell him?"

 

"Nothing to be concerned about, Captain." She smirks and wraps a finger around his hook, pulling him down the hallway. "Come on, you've got a long day ahead of you and you're on an empty stomach."

 

.~.

 

A little over an hour later when he bids her a good quality time with her mother with a kiss and declaration of his love, Neal is already playing with Liam in the living room with their toys.

 

“Neal loves Liam,” David says from his spot in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee (he apparently believes he’ll need it to survive the day).

 

“Aye, likewise with the little one,” Killian agrees, tapping his fingers on the counter, his body twisted on the seat as he observes the two children playing. “What do you reckon we do today with them?”

 

“We’re right near a beach, Jones,” David says. “These kids are getting wet today.”

 

“That’s going to fuel Liam’s mind into being a pirate again,” Killian mutters to himself, smiling at the view of the two boys playing. It reminds him a bit of when he was younger.

 

And he’s right it does add more to his dream of being a pirate, and it doesn’t help since he wears a damn hook around most of the time (despite the prosthetic he owns). Liam’s already convinced he’s Captain Hook, but he and Emma have decided not to tell him that he actually is yet, not until he’s older and understands that everyone around him are _literally_ fairytales.

 

David nearly shoves him into the water completely, making him almost trip forward and face plant straight into the sandy floor beneath his feet. Liam is giggling and Neal is _completely_ laughing at the shenanigans, but he manages to scoop up his little son with one arm and have David handle Neal. Revenge on David will come after he’s had some fun with the boys. Of course they only stay on the shallow sides by the shore though - until Liam gets some swimming lessons, Killian is not going to risk drowning him.

 

He keeps his son afloat (besides the fact he has those… _floaties_ ), plants a kiss to the side of his head where the messy dark hair is stuck against his skin. His blue eyes are shimmering with that playful look again, something mischievous about it, but he’s a four year old, he can’t do that much to him. But then, well then Emma whispered something into his ear and he’s still suspicious about what she’s told him.

 

After solid hours during the afternoon of trying to get back at David for pushing him into the water forcefully and having to handle two kids who don’t know when to take a break, it finally stops.

 

“I’m hungwy,” Liam pouts.

 

“Me too,” Neal suddenly agrees. “Race you?”

 

They glance at each other before they’re running toward the house in a hurry, all sandy and soaked in the sea.

 

“They don’t know when to stop,” David complains, “I’m getting too old for this - I think.”

 

“Mate, I’m over three centuries old and _you’re_ getting old?” Killian scoffs, pushing away the wet strands of hair falling in front of his eyes. “Clearly explains why _I_ win our sword duels.”

 

David glares at him. It’s like Emma’s glare all over again like from this morning. “You’re kidding me right? You only win because Snow would have my head if I came home with a scar across my face!”

 

“Oh, _excuses_ are excuses,” he teases, hiking his way back toward the house. “Besides, perhaps that fear of your wife explains why you had to _stab_ me in the back.”

 

“That was like five years ago, let it go,” David grumbles.

 

“I do recall that I did say I would hold it over your heads for a _very_ long time,” he shoots back, a triumphant smile on his lips as he opens the door after he steps up the stairs of the porch.

 

.~.

 

At the end of the day, it’s play sword fighting and lazily sitting on the couch with the TV showing those bloody cartoons they’re so captivated by. David is out and Neal is stuck on top of him, sprawled across his chest, and Liam is still half-awake at his state, the boy sitting on his lap.

 

“Papa?” he quietly asks, looking up at him. “Can you tell me a story?”

 

“After you brush your teeth and change, Liam,” he promises, pickup him up, keeping his movements and voice quiet. “You have to let your Grandpa and Neal sleep - be quiet, lad.”

 

“‘Kay,” he murmurs, padding off to the washroom.

 

Since the other two are completely worn out, he reaches for the remote and shuts the TV off, the constant glow from the screen being regular now gone, the sounds of cartoon voices over. The only thing is the faint distance of water running from the washroom and the door cracked open, some light peeking through.

 

It’s not even late, only nearing 8:30PM, but after a day full of games, it’s no surprise since these two are always active and up to do _anything_. He’s not even that tired to be honest (the dire situations he’s found himself in before are far worse than the playful wrath of his son). He gathers himself up from the couch, rounding the edge of the piece of furniture before heading down the hallway into Liam’s bedroom, the little boy already on his bed, the sheets of anchors and the blue colour of the sea.

 

He perches on the side of the bed and tucks him in (this prosthetic is actually quite _efficient_ and to his liking when hanging around a child), smiling at the fact he’s wearing the pajamas with pirate ships on it. (He’s also always been fast to pick up on things, how to learn - that’s his smart son. It’s the same with his older brother, back in the day, when he was able to learn everything ahead of him.)

 

“What story would you like to hear today?” he asks, his hand brushing over his forehead to push away his messy hair. “ _The Pirate and the Savior_ again?”

 

Liam nods. “Yeah!”

 

So he begins to tell the story, the story about how the Captain, a pirate, develops an odd feeling for the Savior destined to save happy endings, only to discover that she’s his happy ending in the end, or well, beginning as well. He tells him the stories of their grand adventures, the times they went to Neverland or when reality had been warped into a different universe. (He does mention the one time they clashed against each other, but he vividly recalls spouting out an innuendo which he avoids from telling Liam.)

 

In the end when his - _their_ \- son’s eyes are closed, his face relaxed and his breaths even, he kisses his forehead before shutting the lamp off. Walking out of that room, he notices that the light in their bedroom is already on, the yellow colour coming from the crack beneath the door, illuminating on the wooden floors.

 

She’s sitting there on the bed with a book in her hand and a smile, her head jolting up at his arrival when he closes the door behind him.

 

“Hello, beautiful,” he murmurs, climbing onto the bed to kiss her chastely. “How was your day with your mother?”

 

“Great, thanks,” she answers, her smile widening. “David and Neal are successfully passed out on the couch and I think I heard _that_ story again. I was sort of expecting to find you and Liam on the other couch passed out too since it was so silent.”

 

He laughs, shaking his head. “Can’t tire me out that easily, love.”

 

“Damn it,” she mutters, setting her book down on the nightstand. “This morning I promised Liam ice cream if he could tire out his Dad - he failed, unfortunately. But it seems like you guys must have had a productive day nonetheless.”

 

So that’s what she whispered to him. “Well I’m sure there are _other_ ways to tire me out,” he drawls.

 

“ _Pirate_ ,” she spits out.

 

“Aye, I am. And soon enough, our son is going to become of one too.”

 

 


	39. memories to be told

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Oh, I have a prompt for you, my dear: Killian is back on his ship alone and decides to go through his safe (the safe we saw in Ursula's episode). There's some stuff from his past, maybe a few things of Milah's, a few things of Liam's - and then Emma comes and he shares stories with her. - dark--swan

 

He leaves her for the night.

 

He reckons the remainder of her family will want to hog her for a bit now that the darkness is no longer a fleeting issue in Storybrooke. The pain and concern still lingers, that part of his mind always in gear when it comes to Emma or any of her family’s safety. The simplicity of True Love’s kiss managing to destroy the darkness was not much of a surprise, even though he originally doubted himself because he attempted it back in New York.

 

_It doesn’t work on memory loss - or someone who doesn’t feel the same deep down._

 

They spent weeks trying to figure out how to disperse the darkness inside of her, the forthcoming battle everyone has been noticing internally for the _Savior_. She never really did disappear from town, but she did avoid the public - the few times she ended up on his ship seeking comfort because things were getting _too difficult for her to handle alone_. That was a major change, the fact that she wasn’t going to keep herself secluded from him.

 

But now, for now he’s back on The Jolly Roger, descending the ladder to his trusty cabin. There’s nothing in particular he wants to address with her at the moment, but yes, they have a talk long due now that everything is once again safer. And in terms of _safe_ , he remembers the safe that is stored in his cabin, the last time he touched it from retrieving Ursula’s voice.

 

He lights a dim candle in the room on his wooden table before turning to glance at the metal box. There’s a certain bit of weight he holds in there that regards with the weight in his heart, reminders of things he’d rather not remember anymore. Despite it being in his past, the same things still haunt him on an irregular basis, the memories all faint in his mind.

 

Removing his hook from the brace, he sticks it into the lock of the safe and turns it, the small door unlocking. Attaching his hook back on, he opens up the door with his hand, finding the few old items sitting in the back.

 

Killian is ready to face his past again, the pain long gone but the memory still numb and distant, still meaning something to him. He pulls out a piece of paper which is the drawing of Milah. Requiring to close his eyes for the memory, he no longer really remembers how she appears, even with the drawing depicting all her features clearly. The attempt to even conjure an imaginative figure in his mind of how his first love used to look really doesn’t prove successful. He stares at it for a moment longer, soaking it in before setting it aside on the table.

 

It’s no surprise that he finds two small books, one that is his and the other of Liam’s, both of them keeping a log during their time back in the Royal Navy. Inhaling a deep breath, he opens it up, thumbing the old, crumpled paper while scanning over the words gracefully written over it. It’s all old memories, too far away for him to remember too much, only being able to recall the significant or most memorable ones.

 

Perhaps the new ones he’s making along with Emma and Henry are overlapping all of his old. And _maybe_ that’s a good thing (it _is_ ), that he’s looking forward to the future, that he’s loving the present, that he no longer dwells much in his past.

 

Those books don’t mean as much to him anymore, but holding them up, the faint flicker of the candle lighting it, it reminds him of the times he’s written in the log at dusk time.

 

“Killian?”

 

He glances up from his spot in front of the safe, hearing her footsteps. “I’m here,” he calls back, his hand digging into the safe to find the last thing, a compass his brother gave to him.

 

“You didn’t have to go so early, you know,” she quietly says, catching his attention from the compass.

 

With a shrug and a small smile he forces on, he shakes his head. “No, I suppose I didn’t but I left so you could have some more time with your family.”

 

“You _are_ my family too.”

 

That’s not a stunning statement to ever be heard, but the boldness of her voice, how _sincere_ and _genuine_ in the way she’s saying is what makes him speechless. Killian smiles sadly, his eyes averting back to the compass because he knows that just by looking into hers, he’ll lose whatever purpose he’s been holding onto for the night.

 

“Hey.” Her hand lands on his forearm, a crease at her forehead, her lips pressed together. “Stuff from your past, huh?”

 

He nods curtly. “Aye.”

 

“I’d love to know more about your beginnings.”

 

His eyes snap to hers as he takes in a sharp breath, realizing his own words being redirected toward him. But she’s serious, he figures.

 

“It’s quite a long one, perhaps I can tell you separate stories?”

 

“How about we start with the stuff you’ve found?”

 

Killian sets everything down on the table before shuffling toward the bed, patting the empty spot next to him which she takes up. If anything, he’s willing to share his history since he already has glimpses into hers. He knows about the difficult upbringing she’s had in this world, but it only makes him appreciate her more when to know how she fights through it and she’s won.

 

So he begins to tell her some stories, stories of the times he’s spent as a child in the little village they grew up in back in the Enchanted Forest. He occasionally pauses, trying to remember details of the long forgotten memories. She’ll laugh quietly with him, smile her brightest smile, and remind him that he’s not alone anymore, that all of his ghosts have long been left behind, that _she_ has been hanging the stars ever since, that he can find solace from her and her family.

 

“He was my everything - the only person who was constant in my life after my mum’s death,” he says sadly, reminiscing about the times after dinner where they’d be outside playing. “I would follow him ‘til the ends of the earth, to be that honourable person he’d have wanted of me -”

 

“You are honourable.”

 

“I know, love,” he mumbles, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “I wasn’t always. Despite my own code, there were times I didn’t follow it.”

 

She scoffs, shaking her head. “Yeah, well I know what you mean. I didn’t have my graceful times either, I wasn’t always innocent and _good_.”

 

“But you are now.”

 

“You too.”

 

“I am by no means innocent, Swan.”

 

“But you’re _good_ , you’re a _hero_ , remember?” She grins. “You helped me out of the darkness. You’ve found your good heart and Liam would be proud right? And if... if Milah loved you, even if she didn’t get to spend her life with you, she would be happy as long as you’re happy too, right?”

 

“Aye,” he huffs.

 

They eventually shift into a different position. He slips off his shoes and she takes off her boots and he gathers her into his arms, his legs spread apart with her sitting in between his lap.

 

“I would like to correct something I’ve told you from before, Emma.” He bites his lower lips gently, figuring the only way he can do is word it bluntly. “You’re not my happy ending - you’re my happy _beginning_. You haven’t been bringing happy endings back, you’ve been bringing back happy beginnings. An ending ends, but we’re just starting, love. We’re not even close to an end.”

 

He leans down to the side, pressing a kiss to the underside of her jaw.

 

“I… wow, I didn’t realize it was like that.”

 

“Well, it’s only just a thought.”

 

“A very accurate thought,” she quickly tells him.

 

Grinning, he picks up the drawing in front of them, keeping his hook resting on top of her thigh. “Enough of that, I should continue with the stories. This was Milah. She was beautiful, strong, adventurous, stubborn like you, and I found myself attracted to her unlike any other woman. She wanted to even work for my crew on the ship, despite my own protests. She could never sit still; always desiring for something more to keep her productive.”

 

Just knowing that he’s explaining his old lover to her is sort of weird, though she seems open to it, non-judgemental. She doesn’t stiffen in his arms, but she leans into his chest, listening attentively without interrupting him.

 

“And she was artistic, her mind creative and full of dreams to achieve when she first approached me. I wanted to help her achieve those dreams, to take her to places she’s never been.” He sighs, licking his lips. “Perhaps I was foolish when I agreed to her, to take her away from her husband and son. But whenever I think about if I could go back and change what I’ve done, I don’t think I would make a different choice. It would mean being on a different path, possibly not meeting _you_.”

 

“If she was still alive, with you here… would you have chosen her or me? Just curious, by the way.”

 

“Putting me on the spot now, love?” He chuckles, noticing her lips curls into a smile which warms his heart in unbelievable ways. “Well, to be honest, I don’t know. Yes, she was my first love, but… if I had to resist one of you, I think I’d be able to resist her more than you. Nothing, not Milah or anyone else, has made me feel like how I feel now with you. So you, I’d _always_ choose you.”

 

“Likewise,” she murmurs, leaning her head back under his chin, looking up at her.

 

He kisses her gently, a quick peck to her lips before she looks back down at the drawing still in his hand. “What else would you like to hear, my love?”

 

“Whatever you fancy,” she replies, leaving the entire subject open to him. He likes the fact that she’s completely open minded, allowing him to choose what to tell her, how she doesn’t pry for information. It’s moments like these where he wonders how he’s gotten her in his circle.

 

“ _Well_ , Liam had caught me on several occasions picking fights with other kids on the street when we were far younger and not in the Navy yet. Mum often scolded me afterwards, though she always had that sweet smile on her face.” Slowly shaking his head, he continues. “And when mum passed, father didn’t do much - in fact, he abandoned me. Liam was already in the Navy by this point, but I wasn’t of age yet. Imagine adolescent me roaming the streets after docking off the ship my father and I were on.”

 

“What kind of father abandons their son like that?”

 

“My bastard of one, apparently.” He sighs. “It’s of course all in the past, nothing but a part of what was the inevitable experience. Promised me adventures and such and the next day he was gone when the ship pulled to port.”

 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles quietly, her fingers twirling around his hook. He’s never gotten over that, how she holds onto his hook like a _hand_ and nothing else. How she doesn’t hesitate to take both parts. “That sounds horrible.”

 

He shrugs, leaning his head back against the wood of the ship. “Nothing to be sorry about anymore, love, it’s been three centuries, I’ve gotten over it a long time ago.”

 

“You told me once the wounds inflicted from when we’re younger lingers longer.”

 

“Just how many things do you memorize when I tell you them?”

 

She smiles while she says, “Just the inspiring ones.”

 

.~.

 

Managing to peel an eye open, the sunlight filtering in through the small window, he notices the sleeping form next to him, tucked against his chest, her breathing still slow consistent. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, but perhaps he’s just too worn out from telling her stories of his ridiculous childhood or the places he’s visited to remember.

 

He remembers the beam of her smile, the glimmer of happiness in her green eyes. It’s been awhile and he’s missed out on all of that, he’s _missed_ it and _her_. He’s had to hold her, rub his hand up and down her back, mumble words against her ear quietly all before this event when she had dark and light battling inside of her. Now it’s better, her smile real, the burden lifted off of her shoulders.

 

But he knows she’s far from feeling back to normal.

 

He knows that the memory of any darkness is etched somewhere inside of her, a tempting thing to try and catch her soul. Maybe his stories were enough to play a part of some offered solace, no night terrors to wake her up.

 

His old log is pressed against the side of the wall.

 

Yes, he let her read through some of the written recordings. No, he doesn’t regret any of what he’s shown or told her the previous night.

 

He feels her shift slightly.

 

“Killian?”

 

“G’morning, love,” he mumbles.

 

“Good morning,” she reciprocates, rolling to face him. “Been awake for long?”

 

“No,” he answers, “woke a few moments earlier than you.”

 

“Thank you for telling me all those stories last night. It helped me sleep a lot better.”

 

“Anytime.” And he doesn’t want to get out of bed and face the day yet. Right now, he wants to hold her close, to _smell her_ , to _feel her_ , to just be with her. After everything, he wants her to himself for just a little longer, just enough for him to savour every bit before he has to share. Pirate’s don’t share what’s theirs, but for her, he’d gladly share her, especially because she’s got a hold on his heart. “Do you want to go?”

 

“No,” she answers firmly, “no, not yet. How about you tell me about your compass?”

 

“Ah right, we never finished that story.” He yawns. “Liam gave it to me, of course. I believe it was right after I was promoted to Lieutenant. But, I kept it all this time as a reminder. Something I could seek out whenever I needed it, when I needed _him_. At some point, I was so taken upon revenge I forgot about it, only focused on trying to find a way to destroy The Dark One.”

 

“It’s gone now.”

 

“It is, aye.” He sighs a shaky breath, closing his eyes for the moment. “I am relieved that the darkness is gone, Emma.”

 

“Same. But you know, it really sounds like I would have liked Liam if he was here with us.”

 

“He’d love you, too,” he mumbles, kissing the top of her forehead. “As I do.”

 

Her smile is tentative but loving and god, sharing stories with her was somewhat like a bit of closure. “I… love you,” she tells him, her hand brushing his cheek, one of the many gestures he’s noticed she tends to do.

 

He grins, pressing forward until their lips meet for a brief kiss, reveling in the softness of her lips, the feeling that _she’s back_ and that _she’s alive_ and _okay_. He knows he won’t be able to let her go for awhile, that he’ll always having to be making physical contact with her, just so he’s reassured that she’s not going to fade away from him, that nothing is there to take her.

 

 


	40. ball in your court

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Sports broadcasters that always disagree with each other. - Anonymous.

He _hates_ Emma Swan with a burning passion.

 

Emma Swan is a stubborn woman who likes to prove her point, and as much as he appreciates her fiery (sometimes lovely) personality, he’s never been quite fond of her, especially when they’re broadcasting next to each other. It’s one thing having to only deal with hearing her voice and arguing back, it’s another to have to mandatorily take his seat next to her and endure her relentless attempts are trying to battle what he has to say.

 

It’s like she has a bloody iron heart with the assistance of her cunning wit and questioning glances. She tends to never take any of his shit, which is rather frustrating. She’s the only one who’s been able to best him, and that confirms quite a bit.

 

_“No, Swan, I don’t believe that the player was offside. He was aligned perfectly with the ball and defense.”_

 

 _“_ Actually _, I think he was one step ahead,” she argues strongly against him, a smirk on her face. “Therefore, he was offside. I don’t need further justification of this fact, Jones, the referee’s called it to be offside, there’s nothing we can do about it.”_

 

_He wants to shove her microphone down her throat. “Alright, perhaps so, but I still defend that the offense was not fairly judged.”_

 

_Later that day after the match, Miss Mills comes stomping in telling the both of them to act more like adults instead of having to retaliate against each other’s opinions like petty teenagers. He clenches his jaw and nods sternly, his eyes occasionally darting to check on Swan. There’s a bit of amusement glittering in her eyes instead of any seriousness. He has to heave a heavy sigh, loosen up his black tie a bit, and relax for a moment when Miss Mills has left._

 

_“You find this interesting, don’t you, love?”_

 

_“Not your love for the one millionth time,” she mutters. “And yes, I do,” she answers matter-of-factly._

 

_Raising a curious eyebrow, he turns around and shakes his head, smiling a little bit to himself. Insufferable as she is, two can play at that game._

 

Despite the lack of cooperation they have, he can tolerate her a bit more when they’re not on air. She’s still as stubborn and hard like a brick wall, refusing to tumble and collapse until all the little bricks are cracked to pieces. It’s something that’s intriguing about Swan, that she’s hiding greyed out parts of her past that she never discusses. He’s already determined that she doesn’t like opening up, that the walls of despise and false aggravation are ways she keeps him at arm’s length, that he’s only a co-worker and nothing else.

 

It should qualify that they’re friends - a little bit, at least. They talk casually over coffees in the morning, share lunches (even go out to the diner around the corner, too), and that’s what friends do, right? He’s proud that he has at least befriended her, grown from accomplices or acquaintances. It’s also validating since they text on and off sometimes over the week when they’re not in on the job.

 

Though Swan is still a hard shell when it comes to trust. He’s still working on that, to be honest. She commonly conceals her emotions if she’s having a rough morning, always having to push him aside when it comes to trusting _someone_. He wouldn’t mind being that someone.

 

_She’s uttered about two words to him this morning which indicates she’s gotten off to a bad start on a Monday. He sighs as he watches her get herself prepared, talking briefly with the producers before she’s slipping away toward the washroom._

 

_Naturally, he wants to stalk behind her and ask if she’s alright, if there’s anything he can do to help. But with the way he’s been brushed aside, she evidently does not want to discuss any of the matters with anyone, which means keeping everything to herself. His stomach is unsettled the entire day, the way her voice is a bit more bitter than usual even when she’s trying to mask it, the way there’s lines creased on her forehead from both focus and being upset; mostly the latter, to be frank._

 

_Killian wants to corroborate what's upset her since it’s been a burden on her shoulders since the morning so he can help her. Provide any bits and pieces of aid possible, even if she doesn’t request for it, if she doesn’t want it._

 

 _She needs_ someone _to care for her, even if it’s a friend._

 

 _By the end of their shifts for the afternoon (very little bantering while broadcasting today, not that it’s a surprise), he notices she’s not in a hurry as usual to leave, to depart from his_ horrid _presence. He pulls her aside in the hallway later by the wrist, having questions to ask._

 

_“You’ve been unhappy all day, Swan, what’s wrong?”_

 

_“Nothing,” she mutters in a sour voice._

 

 _He sighs. “Emma, you weren’t yourself all day. You didn’t argue with my statements, you hardly spoke to anyone, you took double the usual washroom breaks - something’s got you upset and I’m rather insistent to_ help _you.”_

 

 _“Fine.” She shuts her eyes, averting her eyes away from him, down the hall. “I ran into my asshole of an ex-boyfriend. He’s_ expecting _me outside right now - to forgive him. But I can’t do that.”_

 

_Now that is an interesting prospect._

 

_“Well, love, there’s a simple fix to that.”_

 

_She scoffs in disbelief. “Oh, really?”_

 

_“Really. Just hold my hand because we’re going to trick him that we’re together, tell him to bugger off, and that should do it.” He smiles softly, making sure not to scare her off with this idea. “Jealousy usually does the trick.”_

 

_It’s obvious she doesn’t want to do it, but he drags her along and she doesn’t do anything but comply anyways._

 

Between volleyball and football (or _soccer_ ), they argue about those the most. They also get yelled at by Regina a lot when it comes to their protests against each other.

 

“Seems like it’s out of bounds!” she exclaims.

 

He chuckles, having to disagree with her there. “Not so fast, Swan, I think it’s _exactly_ on the line.”

 

The replay of the attack comes and it’s exactly on the line, counting for a point. He turns to smirk at her but she’s got a scowl of disgust on her face, as if she’s going to rip his face to shreds and tear his head off of his neck. Those thoughts of violence are not comforting at the slightest when he matches it with the look on her face.

 

“It appears so. The point has been given to Team Japan.” She sounds almost _disappointed_ , but it’s not from the fact that Japan is now ahead in the volleyball match, but it’s because she’s _lost_ to him in a battle of opinions. “They are now ahead, twenty to nineteen.”

 

Victory is sugar sweet.

 

He understands her more than he would like to. They’ve been working on this same sports broadcasting station for two years together already, but she’s always hesitant around him still. And to be honest, that stings him. That she’s been broken by someone she trusted _that_ bad for her to be hardly capable of handling a man she has to work with daily, a man she should be able to trust.

 

By any means, he trusts her.

 

But when hockey season comes rolling around, neither for them are holding back against each other. They’ve both got their preferred teams to cheer for, and if they don’t they manage to end up cheering for opposite teams anyways. He’s figured out this is how they work. They must be certified rivals by now, which of course, people are entertained by.

 

(Probably the only reason Miss Mills hasn’t fired them is because apparently people like their stupid bickering. Which is odd, typically no one likes arguing sports broadcasters.)

 

They legitimately scream at each other when their teams go against each other. Weirdly enough, it feels relieving to yell so loud at her (even though it’s not meant to hurt her in any way), just that it feels _refreshing_ , something to save him from the bleak weekends he has when he’s not on the job.

 

_“You own a ship?”_

 

_“Aye.”_

 

_“I have to admit, that’s sort of cool.” She yawns, leaning back in her chair. “I’ve never been on a ship before.”_

 

_Suddenly, he has this idea. “Well, we must fix that, lass. This weekend, if weather permits, we shall take a trip so then you can gladly confess you’ve been on a ship.”_

 

_“You’re kidding me.”_

 

_“Consider it compensation for your last loss in our little disagreement.”_

 

_“I hate you,” she grumbles, spinning in her chair to avoid facing him at all._

 

 _He chuckles, loosening his tie a bit with a growing smirk. “The feeling is mutual,_ darling _.” And it’s true, he’s always hated Emma Swan. “Oh, it looks like we’re live again.”_

 

When her hockey team loses, he sees her slowly retreat again. He sighs once the broadcasting is off, no longer being live, microphones shut off, and they’re _free_. Though that was an intense game, the point going in last minute with him cheering loudly, enthusiastically.

 

Four days later, she doesn’t come to work. Someone is substituting for her, and when he asks the others where she is, they say she took sick days off. He wonders if she’s actually sick, or trying to avoid him for something he’s accidentally done which he is unaware of. Sighing, he thanks them and turns back to go do his job for the afternoon.

 

It’s boring without having someone _good_ to argue with. By evening, his temporary partner is stoic and boring, only stating what’s obviously occurring in the hockey match. He has no other choice but to go along with him, but if anyone tunes in frequently while he and Swan broadcast as a _team_ , they’d recognize the lack of energy in Killian’s voice by now. The usual frenzy and joy he feels is fading away, at least while he has to deal with _this_ person.

 

After work, he leaves the station immediately, settling into his black BMW and hitting the gas, driving toward Swan’s apartment which isn’t far from the street. Luckily, someone enters right as he gets there too, having them hold the door open. They recognize and greet him and he returns it with a polite “Hello,” a wave, and a smile.

 

He doesn’t know what he’s doing when he’s standing in front of her door.

 

With a pathetic shrug to himself, he knocks on the door and soon it opens up, his partner pale and wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket.

 

And then a surprised face.

 

“You are _definitely_ ill,” he states the obvious, “and I meant to come and check up on you.”

 

“I can handle myself, _Jones_ ,” she rasps, coughing into her arm a second later.

 

Killian tilts his head to the side, quirking an eyebrow up as he looks her up and down. “Clearly not,” he mutters, pushing past her gently into her apartment. When he hears her questioning his motives, he turns around and glares at her. “ _You_ will get a proper meal and rest on my account because I couldn’t bloody handle your replacement today. As much as I dislike you as my broadcasting partner, I’d much rather have you over any other fool.”

 

“Jones, go home,” she mutters at him weakly, leaning against kitchen counter.

 

He shrugs off his suit jacket, throwing it onto the couch arm, rolling his dress shirt sleeves up. “I’d love to see you try in your current state, love.”

 

After that, she doesn’t do anything but comply, settling on her couch quietly without any protests.

 

It doesn’t take long to find all the necessary ingredients to make her some good old chicken soup (and some other secret additives) to help the nasty cough and high temperature she currently has. Probably half an hour later, she’s passed out on the couch when he brings the bowl of soup to her. He sets it on the coffee table in front of him before pressing the back of his hand to her forehead. _Burning_ just as he thought. Shaking her shoulder gently, he manages to get her to stir and wake up, her eyelashes fluttering tiredly.

 

He helps her sit up, and he immediately grabs the hanging suit jacket on the edge of the couch and wraps it around her shoulders, the blanket clinging around her legs. Killian picks up the bowl of soup for her. “Here, Swan, drink this,” he mumbles in a softer voice than usual. “After that, head to bed and take some Advil or NyQuil.”

 

“You didn’t need to do this,” she mumbles after taking a sip from the bowl.

 

“I did it anyways, love.”

 

She sighs and smiles at him, a little lazy and exhausted. “Thank you… Killian.”

 

It takes all of his denying force to stop himself from doing something like kissing her forehead. Whatever he’s already done this evening has proved to be a little more desperate, something _too_ domestic for a platonic relationship. But by seeing her like this, he wants _more_ than friendship. He wants to take care of her when she’s sick over her stomach, he wants to be able to come home, kicking the door shut and kissing her when he finally can, he wants to be able to drop into bed with her after an active day at work from shoving imaginary, unsaid words down each other’s throats.

 

He cleans up the kitchen when he’s finally able to drag himself away from her, putting utensils and other kitchen materials back into their according spots.

 

There is a valiant effort being made on his part to try and think of less intimate thoughts, to try and dream a little less about the possibility of _loving Emma Swan_. Just the experience he has now with taking care of her, he’s got this implanted memory that’s branded in his brain that will continue to bother him. He doesn’t really hate her, he’s just been having that strong bravado to put up so it gave him a reason to despise her rather than _fall_ for her.

 

And that bit of a plan has crumbled to nothing but ashes.

 

Tonight, she didn’t push him away, whether it was the sickness restricting her from any further attempts or not, she’s openly _let_ him see her like this, all weak and in fatigue. If that’s not progress in whatever their relationship is, he doesn’t know what is. If Emma Swan has let him take care of her in spite of her stubborn nature, something has grown between them.

 

(He actually likes that maybe there’s more that could happen between them - just the thought is warming his stomach and making his mind spin in anticipation.)

 

(But being ill can do things to you, so he doesn’t know what’ll happen after this, so he tries to ignore those warning bells.)

 

There are complications in the way. They work together. How is _that_ going to work?

 

He shakes himself out of the thoughts before he shuffles his way back toward her after turning the lights in the kitchen off, seeing her all cuddled up at one of the sides of the couch, her knees brought up, still drinking the soup. He doesn’t want to leave.

 

God, he’s falling for her too fast, this is _bad news_.

 

“Anything else you would like me to do?”

 

And he really is just setting himself up to die if he’s asking her if he could be of any other possible help. Frankly, he desires to be in her company after lacking it from the entire day earlier, but the longer he spends time with her here, the more he’s going to be hyperaware of how he’s too deep in his feelings for her for him to escape. It’s like an asylum that he _really_ doesn’t want to live in, but it’s swallowing him fifty feet deep at a time without giving him a chance to escape.

 

Or he’s missed his chance to escape already.

 

 _Bloody hell_ , he thinks to himself.

 

“No,” she answers, shaking her head.

 

In one way he’s relieved to hear that answer, in another he’s disappointed. (He won’t even admit to himself it’s the latter that dominates more.) “It’s getting late so I suppose I’ll take my leave now.” He turns toward the door and suddenly she calls after him.

 

“You forgot your jacket,” she mumbles.

 

Glancing past his shoulder, he shakes his head with a small smile. “Keep it, Emma. I’ve got plenty of others to replace it, after all, it’s only a jacket, not my rival partner.” Yes, he’s just implied she’s irreplaceable and _god damn it_ , he’s taken by her bad; he needs a cold shower.

 

By the time he shuts the door behind him, he has to let out a heavy breath.

 

That cold shower is mandatory.

 

Three days after that godawful day he first worked with the boring broadcaster, Swan returns with a confident walk and smirk on her face through the doors, causing for his lips to split into a grin at the view. His co-worker is _back_ and ready.

 

Albeit his job pays decent, there’s something going wrong with the entire network.

 

Regina Mills is in a bit of trouble.

 

Thus, everyone who works under her is in a crisis.

 

Everything that occurs over the time span of another two months isn’t too bad, but after having such a stumble in his career like that, he’d much rather not work under her and have a similar predicament surface again.

 

(There are _secrets_ that are circling around that has been confirmed, and he’s supposed to be used to harm Emma.)

 

(No way in hell is he going to do that, not in any lifetime.)

 

Two days after everything is solved, most people guaranteed with getting their jobs back, he decides to resign from his position. If he’s due to harm Emma’s job, her entire _life_ , he’s going to leave that place before it actually happens.

 

She finds him on his ship a week later and he’s surprised to even see her face again. She hasn’t had any contact with him since he left so abruptly.

 

“Why’d you leave?”

 

He swallows hardly, turning to face her. “I needed to,” he answers vaguely with a shrug.

 

“Don’t _lie_ to me, Killian, why did you quit?” Her voice is demanding, she wants an answer and he doesn’t want to keep it from her, but he’s afraid this will hurt her. “If it’s some ridiculous reason, I’m going to throw you off this ship.”

 

“Mills wanted to have me _corrupt_ you!” he finally shouts back. Calming himself down, he takes a deep breath and steps forward toward her. “She wanted you gone. She wanted to use me to break you somehow and when I heard of this news, I had to leave - I can’t work for someone like that. I knew that the business crisis she had with the network was more than some small issue. It was _this_ , Emma -” he gestures between them, “- she was going to get rid of you in some dirty way. I didn’t want to be apart of that, but I also didn’t want you to lose your job, so I resigned so you could have a second chance.”

 

Her eyes seem to soften at the news, but she still seems vexed. “You quit. For me.”

 

He nods once. “Aye.”

 

The next thing he knows is that the tie around him is being tugged by her and he’s kissing her and _holy bloody hell_ he was not prepared for this to happen. All of times he’s imagine kissing her, he hasn’t imagined it like this. Her lips are soft, but the kiss isn’t - there’s passion and pent up tension being released - it’s as if they’ve both been waiting for this to happen for centuries.

 

He manages to bury a hand in her hair while wrapping his other arm around her waist, pressing their bodies closer together. She’s warm and smells like that hot cocoa and cinnamon she likes with a tad bit of something else from her shampoo. His hand falls toward her jaw, cupping it while his tongue swipes across her lower lip.

 

Killian pulls back just a little bit to lean his forehead against hers, noses nudging each other. “That was -”

 

“My apology for snapping at you,” she murmurs, “and thanks for being such a gentleman.”

 

Smiling, he kisses her quickly again, the wind and rock of the ship beneath him causing him to sway with her. “What are you talking about, love? You had every right to be angry, and for your information, I’m _always_ a gentleman.”

 

She scoffs at that and he takes her out for dinner on a whim.

 

At some point when they’re strolling down the dark streets with only streetlights on, she tells him she quit too.

 

“I don’t want to work with some shitty replacement, Killian,” she says. “I wasn’t looking forward to going to work the entire week. Every time I entered the place, I got this boring vibe and I knew it was because you weren’t there to greet me with your stupid smile and all. Every time I sat down in the chair next to him, I _missed_ your presence.” She sighs. “It was dreadful.”

 

Surprised at her confession, he kisses her once more, this time under the glow of the streetlight, his hand sprawled open across the small of her back.

 

(Years later, they have their own network which they both take care of _and_ host.)

 

(Their disagreements live for everyone never settle to end.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Tumblr is open to anyone who wants to talk, or you can send in prompts! [Click here.](http://thejollypirate.tumblr.com/)


	41. just finding you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Childhood friends Killian/Emma. They get separated cause of the system and when Killian becomes a famous musician, he dedicates one song in each of his concerts, hoping to find Emma. - Anonymous.

They first meet in the second grade. Both of them are stubborn and frustrating, according to the teacher. Killian’s persistent to be her friend, but Emma’s isolated and likes to keep to herself. She’s already been tossed around three times in the last two months, she already knows better than to hope any better than she already has been. She knows better than to grow attached to friends because what comes after is more than disappointment - it’s loss and abandonment, it’s sadness and goodbye.

 

She doesn’t speak to anyone besides the teacher when in class, sitting quietly at her table, ignoring all the looks and whispers from the classmates around her.

 

They’re told to draw their family.

 

She doesn’t draw anything - she doesn’t even know the definition of family.

 

“I only have an older brother,” he tells her, a smile on his face. It’s sad though, a look she’s seen before.

 

“At least you have him,” she murmurs.

 

It’s the only few words that come out of her mouth that day, refusing to talk to anyone else. When school is over at 3:30, she waits for her foster parents to come pick her up. She sees Killian run toward another man, supposedly his older brother. The view is better than many. _At least his brother cares for him_ , she thinks to herself.

 

She sits on the front step in front of the doors, waiting and _waiting_.

 

No one comes so she decides to walk home herself.

 

.~.

 

She doesn’t last very long at the school - a little more than a year. Killian can be considered a friend by now, but she says her farewell when the people from the system come to take her from class. His frown deepens and he tries to chase after her, but that never works.

 

.~.

 

In grade five, she ends up being transferred to _another_ elementary school.

 

She misses Killian, still.

 

.~.

 

It’s middle school when she ends up traveling back toward the area where she first met Killian. On any chance, she hopes this middle school is where she may meet him again. Ever since leaving, she’s missed him dearly. He wasn’t that bad a guy, wasn’t rude but kind, despite the numerous attempts at trying to get her to talk.

 

Though she’s been let down at least fifteen times by now, she’s sort of lost count - that means quite a bit.

 

On her first day, she finds that people don’t have much respect still. She’s the “orphan,” the “girl who’s been abandoned,” or even “the loser.” The words hurt her, but after each and passing day she does eventually grow used to the terms being thrown around her.

 

In the hallway when she’s settling into her new locker, a guy her age opens up next to her.

 

She’s just about to leave when she catches his face, definitely grown, but still the same familiar blue eyes. “Killian?” she whispers in disbelief, her eyes locking with his. He’s taller now, a little more matured, but puberty hasn’t hit him just yet, she reckons.

 

“Huh?” He turns away from his locker to glance to his left, his lips parting. “ _Emma_?”

 

Less that a second later, his arms are wrapped around her and she has her face pressed against the hollow of his neck, breathing in the faint scent of his shampoo. “It’s you,” she mumbles, her fingers trembling, her bag dropped onto the floor, the flurry of students talking and passing by them. “I can’t believe it.”

 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, pulling back from their hug, his hands firm on her shoulders. “Transferred again?”

 

She takes in a sharp intake of a breath and nods, fearing that there will be _pity_ and _sympathy_ in his eyes, but there isn’t. In fact, he just seems happy enough to see her again and maybe, _maybe_ , that begins to mend her cracking heart.

 

“What class do you have?”

 

She bends down and picks out the binder in her bag. “Homeroom English, room 107.”

 

“Look at that, we’re in the same class!”

 

It’s the best news she’s heard in days to know he’s in the same class, they’re lockers right beside each other, and that he’s _finally_ back in her life, whether it’s for a short period of time or not. He slings his bag over his shoulder and tells her to follow him. They talk casually as if nothing’s changed between them. He talks about how Liam has been making him play the guitar, how he’s _bloody persistent at it_.

 

“Better play for me one day.”

 

“I promise, Swan.”

 

He winks at her before class starts, and that’s how it begins.

 

They’re best friends, the _only_ friend she truly has compared to anyone else in school. He’s patient and caring, a little bold and teasing at times, but it puts her at ease whenever she’s around him. During lunch, he chooses to sit with her instead of his other friends and after school when they’re both waiting to be picked up, he keeps a conversation up with her.

 

Much to her liking, Killian is smart. He helps her with her homework when no one else can (her foster parents are nice, but neither of them are _good_ at the work she has).

 

She meets Liam after school on some days. He’s a nice man and she actually likes him (she hardly ever likes anyone nowadays, Killian as an exception). But, the problem is that he’s like the brother or parent she’s never had and it pains her to see their brotherly love. She wishes she could of have had someone there to support her like Liam supports Killian. Another dream to not come true in her mind, however.

 

As school days grow and she spends more time with him, he begins to talk about how he wants to become a musician, playing the guitar _and_ singing. She’s happy for him, happy that he has something he wants to pursue.

 

But Emma? She hasn’t put much thought into it, never lasting long enough at a place to ever get started into finding herself a hobby to bring around everywhere.

 

When she overhears her foster parents talking about how they’re most likely not going to keep her anymore, she sneaks out of the house and runs, runs and _runs_ with tears slowly streaming down her face toward Killian’s house. It’s late and freezing of winter, she _shouldn’t_ be outside, but she is, and when she ends up at the front doorstep and the door swings open with Liam standing in front of her, she doesn’t hear anything besides the frantic shouting of him calling Killian down.

 

She’s breathing heavily, her frozen hands clenched into fists so hard that she can feel the throbbing pain her fingers are injecting into herself. But then she feels a hand drag her inside and she’s being embraced, that familiar warmth and smell of Killian Jones. The door closes behind her, and the whisper of “Let’s warm her up, little brother” is like heaven to her.

 

She hates crying, hates letting herself be vulnerable but the fact that she was _finally_ reunited with him and then she’s going to be ripped away again hurts her - like a dagger to the heart that has been slowly healing thanks to him. It’s just going to break her again.

 

The explanation process is shaky, stuttering her words out while the occasional shiver gets to her.

 

There’s no solution to her problem. Liam can only support himself and Killian.

 

.~.

 

Two weeks later, without much of a goodbye, she’s gone again.

 

.~.

 

He spends years trying to locate her, specifically after Liam’s death. After his passing, she’s the only thought on his mind, the only _person_ he wants to find, the one that can help fix the ache and fill the missing void in his heart.

 

For the media and public, he puts up a mask of himself, the cocky, suave, and flirtatious man which every girl seems to fall for.

 

He has _hope_ to find Emma Swan again, despite the largeness of the world they all live on, despite the varying amount of cities or states there are in America.

 

There’s a picture, _one_ framed photograph of her and him together from their times back in middle school, his arm slung around her, the both of them smiling at the camera. It hurts every night he goes to bed to stare at the picture on his nightstand, the memory so distant but vivid.

 

(When it’s stashed inside of his suitcase when on tour or it’s on the tour bus, he wishes a little more.)

 

For so many years he’s spent apart from her, he’s only loved her. No other woman in his life has been as influential and important as her (besides his deceased mother), and he really wants to find her so they can catch up, so he can hold her and murmur words into her hair about how much he wants and missed her, wants her to just be _with him again_.

 

But, he’s had no luck so far. With the cities he’s been through, he hasn’t found anyone with her beautiful green eyes and the cascading blonde hair that falls down her shoulders so gracefully.

 

So every time he performs any of his songs or covers someone else’s, he dedicates one song to her in the hopes of discovering her in the vast crowd in front of him.

 

Tonight, he sings and plays the guitar for “Photograph” by Ed Sheeran, and it makes him want to tear up while on stage because it reminds him of _them_ \- together - best friends and nothing worse.

 

> _Loving can heal_
> 
> _Loving can mend your soul_
> 
> _And it's the only thing that I know (know)_
> 
> _I swear it will get easier_
> 
> _Remember that with every piece of ya_
> 
> _And it's the only thing we take with us when we die_

 

At the next concert, he covers “Gone Gone Gone” by Phillip Phillips.

 

> _And I would do it for you, for you_
> 
> _Baby, I'm not moving on_
> 
> _I'll love you long after you're gone_
> 
> _For you, for you_
> 
> _You will never sleep alone_
> 
> _I'll love you long after you're gone_
> 
> _And long after you're gone, gone, gone_

 

It’s painful every time he has to perform these songs, the longing he has to see her again, to smell her hair, to touch her skin, to see her _smiles_ and hear her _laughs_. It’s easy to just play the music and sing, easy to go up there and get the large crowd in front of him going, but it’s hard to keep her off his mind because every time he has to do so, he just remember the way she parted.

 

Like a puzzle, he has to find this last missing piece, and he knows who the missing piece is, it’s just that it’s lost right now. Under the couch? Lost in the closet? In the corner of the bedroom? He doesn’t know because there are millions of hiding spots, he needs to find it. Needs to find _her_ , wherever she is.

 

The next tribute ends up being “The Scientist” by Coldplay.

 

“There is this one person out there, in the millions of this population, whom I miss so dearly,” he begins, gulping before he brings the microphone back in front of his mouth. “We met as children, but the separation has hurt me for years. I hope that they’re listening, that I’ll find them one day.”

 

His hands grip tightly at the microphone as the piano begins to play behind him.

 

> _Come up to meet you_
> 
> _Tell you I'm sorry_
> 
> _You don't know how lovely you are_
> 
>  
> 
> _I had to find you_
> 
> _Tell you I need you_
> 
> _Tell you I set you apart_

 

And he’s finding her, _trying_ so desperately to find Emma Swan. He wants to love her wholly, wants to find her so he can remind her everyday how he’ll never leave her behind, how he wants to spend his life with her because _she_ is his everything. He wants the petty arguments about who’ll do the laundry or wash the dishes, he wants to have her curled up at his side, him playing with her hair while on the couch watching whatever’s on Netflix; he _wants_.

 

> _Tell me your secrets_
> 
> _And ask me your questions_
> 
> _Oh, let's go back to the start_

 

He just hopes, _hopes_ that she’s out there somewhere - that something bad hasn’t happened to her. There are so many possibilities, a possibility of a car accident or maybe she’s even left the country. God knows where she is and he wants to start over again, wants to start _fresh_ with her, but he doesn’t even know where to start himself.

 

> _Running in circles_
> 
> _Coming up tails_
> 
> _Heads on a science apart_
> 
>  
> 
> _Nobody said it was easy_
> 
> _It's such a shame for us to part_
> 
> _Nobody said it was easy_
> 
> _No one ever said it would be this hard_
> 
> _Oh, take me back to the start_

 

By the time the entire song is over, he nearly chokes on his words to announce his thanks, to bid his goodnight and grand thanks to everyone for coming out.

 

It’ll only be another night to pass.

 

.~.

 

He finds her in one of the most unexpected places possible.

 

She’s bartending for him when he sits down in one of the local bars in New York, the cozy place half full with customers already. He can clearly tell it’s not a busy night.

 

“What can I get y…”

 

Glancing up from his hands from the trailed off question, he catches the green eyes and blonde hair he’s so familiar with. It’s _her_ , the woman he’s been looking for - all grown up and matured.

 

“Swan,” he huffs out, blinking rapidly at the view, “is it really you?”

 

“No,” she mutters with a lift of her voice, “wrong person.”

 

His lips press into a straight line at her sarcastic answer.

 

“Sorry, I’ll be right back so we can talk,” she promises before wiping her hands with a towel and heading off into the other direction.

 

Around five minutes later, she has a red leather jacket on and is motioning him to go outside, so he follows behind her, forgetting that he came to the bar originally to drink a bit to forget.

 

“You’re famous now,” she says, her hands shoved into the jacket pockets. “How’s that been for you?”

 

“It’s _okay_ ,” he answers, shrugging a little while he walks next to her, keeping in pace. Killian just wants to be direct with her, skipping the small talk. “Emma, I’ve been searching for you for a long time.”

 

She sighs. “I know. There was a video of you dedicating a song toward a certain someone recorded and put onto YouTube… I saw it. I knew immediately you were singing to _me_.”

 

Smiling sheepishly, he scratched behind one of his ears. “Aye… I just… ever since Liam died, I needed someone, and you were the only one that was on my mind all the time. That’s when I practically set out to find you, wherever you were. I suppose my mission has been accomplished.”

 

“I’m… so sorry to hear your brother’s gone,” she whispers, her voice quiet but _comforting_ and understanding. “I could hardly ever hope again, that I’d ever see you. But you became the next big hit, the guy who’s handsome, charismatic and  musical. I was happy, you know? Happy that you reached your dreams, happy and proud about the fact that I _know_ him.”

 

He takes notice to the present tense, appreciating that subtle hint.

 

“It’s just that… things changed for the worse after I left.”

 

The little crack in her voice indicates it’s a sensitive topic. Immediately, he takes her hand in his and gives her a squeeze, smiling reassuringly down at her with a shake of his head. “You don’t need to tell me right now, love.” He doesn’t care that people are watching them, that people notice him out in public, that someone could be taking a photo and putting it up online for the rumours to spread. “I just want you right now and nothing else. Now that I’ve found you, I’m not letting you go again, Emma.”

 

Her lips twitch into a smile, and then he’s leaning down until he meets her lips for a gentle, small kiss, just enough for him to know that she’s the only one she wants, that nothing else will change that.

 


	42. dare i remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** A prompt for my favorite fanfic writer! Emma and Killian spent a night together in Neverland and when he goes to NY to save her, one and a half year after, she has a blue eyed ten months old baby boy. - Anonymous.
> 
>  **a/n:** for the sake of the story, walsh is the non-existent bastard, bye walsh. and also plot will be altered completely from the canon events in the show because, you know, to make this more angsty - slow burn… sort of. (i mean like, hella fuckin’ angsty because i’m a demon.) ;)

“Swan,” he murmurs, “we really shouldn’t.”

 

“I _need_ you, just for tonight.”

 

And that’s how it begins.

 

The night they share their own bodies, exchanging breathless moans and soft whimpers, the sweat and tears dripping down their faces. Well, at least her face. She’s tired, exhausted without the ability to sleep, reckoning that the bags beneath her eyes are growing darker and more evident each day without rest, that the more she tries - the more she _fails_ \- it drains more energy out of the little adrenaline she has remaining.

 

She knows it’s a horrible idea, that she’ll _regret_ it.

 

(It’s a fucking risk, a _deadly_ one, one that could leave her helpless.)

 

But what scares her is that when she’s catching her breath, her hand thrown above her forehead, chest heaving… there’s no fear growing in her chest, no warning sirens going off in her mind.

 

She’s playing a dangerous game, one that’ll leave her with more painful scars than victories to think about later. His fingers brush her waist tenderly, causing a chill to trail down her spine, having to swallow hardly because she’s not sure what’s happening in her mind anymore, what invoked this sudden desire to _fuck_ him.

 

Against every other odd, she doesn’t shift from this position she’s currently in, partially nestled against his chest. She doesn’t run away from him, doesn’t try to ignore what’s just happened, that they had _sex_ (she had sex with Captain fucking Hook), which is a relatively genius move, right?

 

“Emma, if you want to go you can go,” he mumbles, his breath hot against her neck. “I don’t believe my feelings for you is something I can resist, that I can ignore. I’m quite aware you’re not ready for… _this_ ,” he continues, “so I’ll be a gentleman. I won’t demand for answers and choices on your part, you can set whatever pace you’d prefer.”

 

(It’s not that she’s not trying to remind herself she’s here to save Henry. It’s just that the Lost Boy’s cries are keeping her up anyways, that despite it, Hook makes it go away, he’s able to silence the cries.)

 

(She hates him, really.

 

Despises him.)

 

She has to squeeze her eyes even more, despite them already being closed. She sees the white dots, the blur of faint colours from the intensity. “No more talking,” she quietly requests, clenching her fists, the anxiety, the worry, the _fear_ building up in her slowly. “Please.”

 

“Darling -”

 

“ _Killian_ ,” she pleads, stopping him there.

 

(It’s desperate, Emma Swan never sounds _that_ desperate.)

 

That gets him to shut up. Inhaling a shaky breath, she rolls onto her side and buries her face in his arms. _Just for tonight_ , she thinks to herself, _then I can find Henry and leave._

 

Emma tries to disregard his arms gently tightening around her, his hand warm against her cool back, the sheets not enough to keep her heated. She tries to ignore the sharp breath he takes in when she says nothing, not responding to any of his warnings, his exits.

 

(She’s caught a glimpse of Killian Jones, the man behind the mask and someone, the infinite fright inside of her is dimming down, the glimmer of hope a little more clear.)

 

.~.

 

Interesting.

 

Odd. 

 

Lost -

 

 _Confused_ …

 

The nausea, the headaches, the usual tasks beginning to cause her to be tired.

 

She doesn’t remember having sex, doesn’t remember having a one night stand. But the scary thing is that she’s about 95% sure she’s _pregnant_ , because these symptoms are precisely the same ones she had with Henry.

 

The bubbling stress and anxiety starts to surface. _Two minutes_ , she thinks to herself, pacing back and forth in the washroom of the apartment. She counts down the time, the closer she gets to 0, the more she begins to think, think about the possibilities or the worst case scenario. Who the _hell_ is the father of this child? She doesn’t have a clue. She doesn’t have memories of going out to a bar recently and hooking up. No, she’s been focused on keeping Henry on track with school and her job as a bail bondsperson - she is _very_ absolute in that fact.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” she mutters when she sees the two lines indicating it’s positive, sinking onto the floor while trying to breath calmly.

 

.~.

 

It’s a boy, a baby boy with the bluest eyes she’s ever seen.

 

Henry has been more than ecstatic to be an older brother, to tease the kid, play games with him, even deal with the shrieking in the middle of the nights or early in the mornings.

 

She wonders, everyday, who the father is.

 

Sometimes, she dreams of a man with the brightest grin when he’s happy, but she doesn’t ever remember or discover who he is. Doesn’t see his eyes or the remainder of his body.

 

“Name, Miss Swan?”

 

“ _Liam_ ,” she whispers breathlessly before sleep claims her.

 

The wondering and hopes doesn’t seem to stop in her resting state.

 

.~.

 

Emma’s sheets feel colder at night when she sleeps, feels as if the bed is larger than it usually is. It’s weird thoughts, to be honest, but it’s been frequenting her mind every night.

 

She still dreams of this man, his stubble tickling her skin, these pendants hanging around his neck pressing into her back.

 

Liam starts to cry and she’s stolen from her thoughts before it goes any further.

 

.~.

 

She loves Liam as much as she loves and cares for Henry. He’s a bubbly little boy, but his sleeping schedule eventually begins to calm a little more.

 

The dreams become more common, she wishes she knew the mystery man visiting her.

 

.~.

 

Months pass quickly, Liam becoming more observant and behaving. Henry sleeps over at his friend’s houses sometimes to avoid any midnight crying, and she doesn’t blame him for it. She spends a lot of time in the small nursery, the room painted blue like the colour of his eyes, bright and exquisite. Mainly it’s just the baby in her arms, cradling him gently, looking down at Liam with the softest expression, a tiny smile on his lips.

 

He’s _precious_.

 

She wishes so dearly that whoever this child’s father is, that he’ll maybe present himself in her life some day.

 

It’s better than knowing who the father is and knowing that they’ve left them, that they’ve _abandoned_ them to their own devices. Simply being more unaware of the existence of this man who gave her such an adorable baby boy is better hope than something else, other information she’d probably much rather ignore if it’s to be the truth.

 

Eventually, the dreams grow more detailed, more _explicit_. She can feel things, a faint touch at her spine, kisses to her bare shoulder, neck, _lips_. The darkness eventually fades and she catches sight of blue eyes, blue eyes like Liam’s, blue eyes that seem like she’s _meant_ to gaze into them. She bolts upright in bed before it can get any worse (or better, frankly).

 

Unable to go back to sleep, she swings her legs out of the bed, her feet hitting the cool hardwood floor. She travels through the small hallway and peeks into Liam’s room, padding over as quietly as she can (trying to avoid the places she knows where it creaks) check up on him.

 

He’s sleeping just like a baby should be.

 

But she doesn’t want to go back to bed yet, no, she’s scared she’ll get visions of _him_ again, the man who reminds her so much of _Liam_.

 

.~.

 

Henry has been driven to school and now she’s back at the apartment, feeding Liam.

 

When there’s a knock at the door, when she swings the door open, she wants to scream because of his familiarity.

 

.~.

 

If she’s going mad, she doesn’t know anymore.

 

Whoever he is, he causes the hair to spike up on her skin, makes her want to trust him, believe him.

 

(And in hindsight, that makes sense, right? Her lying detector isn’t picking up on any bullshit.)

 

“You have two sons?” he asks one day.

 

“Yes,” she mutters her answer, “I do. Does that matter?”

 

His eyes soften ( _exactly_ like Liam’s little blue eyes), his expression representing something of hope. “You wouldn’t mind if you disclosed some information on the age of your latest child, would you, lass?”

 

She gulps.

 

“Ten months old.”

 

His interest on her child doesn’t even seem to strike up worry in her. But when his mouth goes agape and he clears his throat, he bids her goodnight before leaving - _that_ leaves her in confusion.

 

.~.

 

“So let me get this straight, Mom. This guy showed up, talked for a bit with you, asked what Liam’s age was, and just… left?”

 

The way he words it makes her chuckle at how _weird_ the situation sounds. “Yep.”

 

“Doesn’t that concern you?”

 

“I don’t know, kid. He didn’t seem dangerous,” she reasons with her older son, rocking Liam back and forth in her arms. “You know I’m good at detecting lies, he was pretty innocent and _not_ a criminal.”

 

“Okay,” Henry drawls, pausing his video game, “but still weird.”

 

She sucks in a deep breath and looks down at Liam in her arms. “I guess.”

 

 _They_ look exactly the same.

 

.~.

 

She runs into him a couple more times, learns that his name is Killian Jones, that his smile and laugh is incredibly soothing, his accented voice giving her this odd feeling in the pit of her stomach.

 

The familiarity of his appearance still frightens her to the edge, that he’s been the man in her dreams, no doubt. But she doesn’t want to tell him that, that’s probably some _absurd_ information which would cause him to run off.

 

(It’s not a lame excuse. Completely rational if you ask her.)

 

Deniable as it can be, she develops feelings for him. _Feelings_. Actual fucking feelings for a man who’s been in her life for no more than a week.

 

Emma never asks Killian why he rushed out the day she told him Liam’s age. He doesn’t seem to mind, at all actually, his smile gentle, his care delicate with the child. Maybe it’s wrong for her to do this, to even think about it, but he’s more a father figure to Liam than anyone else and she certainly doesn’t object the possibility.

 

“His father?” he quietly asks one day as he’s sitting on her couch, hand cradling a glass of whiskey.

 

The idea makes her cringe slightly, having to close her eyes and inhale a deep breath before muttering, “No clue where or who he is.”

 

“I’m sorry, love,” he whispers.

 

She hardly hears his hushed apology.

 

She dares to dream that night that Killian Jones is Liam’s father.

 

.~.

 

There are more dreams, but these dreams feel more like memories.

 

A ship, people surrounding her, the dark forest she sleeps beneath.

 

The longer Killian Jones spends around with her, the more she begins to wonder, the more she starts to think what her life really is, what it’s composed of, who he is, if he’s hiding anything from her. She’s sure he is, but she’s not one to pry, especially because she doesn’t like to be a victim of it herself.

 

But around him, she feels at ease. She can speak to him without worry, without being judged. He’s understanding, kind, _patient_ , a man who is truly, as he’s so gracefully stated, a gentleman.

 

The times her fingers have brushed his, she feels that shudder, the one she remembers from her dreams.

 

He affects her more than she’d like, but what can she do? Run like she always does? Liam has slowly grown fond of him, so has Henry. Her life is changing drastically with the presence of Killian Jones in her life, like he’s already become a friend, a little bit of family. She _trusts_ him (against her own pure will), the last time having done that resulting in a failure.

 

There’s a vibe from him, though, the one where she can’t deny him, that she _needs_ him.

 

.~.

 

When he offers to babysit Liam and Henry when she has to go out for errands or work, he’s always more than happy to do so.

 

She’d _kill_ to know if this man is even real.

 

.~.

 

When she returns from work after an exhausting day, finding Liam sprawled across his chest on the couch, her heart soars.

 

She picks the boy up, being careful not to wake either of them, but Killian stirs instantly, running one hand over his face, eyes cracking open to peer up at her. She smiles down at him and he returns it, nodding subtly.

 

In the month she’s known him, he’s been nothing but a man who’s somehow barged into her life and done the good she never thought she’d have.

 

“I should probably go,” he mumbles, being considerate of the sleeping baby in her arms.

 

“No, it’s okay,” she whispers, stopping him. “Stay.”

 

It’s an instantaneous request that comes from her mouth before she can regret it.

 

“As you wish.”

 

The words feel like a memory. _Why?_

 

.~.

 

Liam’s crying wakes her. Slowly escaping the confines of her bed, she silently trudges down the narrow hallway to find that Killian’s already in there.

 

Her breath hitches at the sweet view.

 

.~.

 

Love.

 

She knows she’s falling in love, something of intuition and instincts, and it’s scaring her.

 

Makes her want to escape the city, makes her want to run far, far away. There are no princes, princesses and happy endings in this world. There’s room for disappointment and abandonment, an equal chance at that over happiness.

 

But Killian feels like a prince, a man that makes her feel loved, a man that encourages her, assists with taking care of the child -

 

 _Love_.

 

.~.

 

He never asks for anything in return.

 

She never pushes him to say or do anything he doesn’t want to do.

 

And one night, when she’s sitting on the couch after an exhausting day with toggling between the two kids and her job, Killian next to her, she tucks herself against his side, his body so _warm_ and it feels so _safe_.

 

His lips press into her hair, and she feels even _more_ warmth spread throughout her body.

 

For now, she’ll let herself invite in his growing warmth.

 

.~.

 

It all happens too suddenly, the memories flooding back into her like a tsunami invading a seaside town after a massive storm.

 

_Storybrooke. Fairy tales. Royalty and happy endings and magic. Heroes and villains._

 

It’s the last of her concerns, at the moment.

 

True Love’s Kiss.

 

She gulps when they pull apart, foreheads touching, noses brushing cheeks. Liam is _his_ , he’s Killian’s son.

 

“Welcome back, love,” he huffs. “Did you miss me?”

 

.~.

 

Henry remembers.

 

They pack up some stuff, nothing big or important, and drive toward Storybrooke.

 

“You knew, didn’t you? Knew Liam was yours all along,” she says, keeping her hands on the wheel, eyes focused on the road.

 

“Aye,” he answers with a coy smile, “and now you know he’s yours, too.”

 

.~.

 

They arrive in Storybrooke in the middle of the night.

 

Maybe all this _magic_ and _happy endings_ here isn’t the ideal place to raise a one year old, but she doesn’t worry too much. It sucks to have to tell her parents that she has a _son_ with Killian, that they’re not even in a proper relationship yet have a child, and she’s almost embarrassed to admit they spent one night together in Neverland because she needed someone to chase away the demons and lost cries.

 

But he’s by her side at all times, he’s come back to save her, _their_ little family.

 

Maybe, just maybe, her chance at her happy ending isn’t so far away after all.

 


	43. a fairy tale father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Ok angsty prompt: write a fic about Killian's dad? Like him being Davy Jones and idk I just want a fic with him in it I can never find one!!! - Anonymous.  
>  **a/n:** i’m just gonna base this off some POTC nonsense because who doesn’t like a bit of POTC mixed with OUAT? in Dead Man’s Chest, we know Davey Jones’ heart is locked in a chest… OUAT does lots of stuff with hearts being locked inside chests or being used to control someone… why not mix it together? (side note: this is probably utter shit, lmao)  
>  a majority of this is just killian-centric, but there's CS at the end... so yep.

All he sees is darkness. He’s ten and doesn’t remember his father ever wanting to abandon him to the sea, ever even hinting to that dreadful notion of an idea. The thought almost physically hurts him. The ship is swaying too hard for him to keep balance, there’s no one yelling orders, no sounds besides the loud waves colliding with the wood of the ship and the hurricane of wind going ballistic. The weather and change is sudden, too sudden for him to understand. ****

 

He’s not that large yet, small and weak as he stumbles to gain some balance on his footing. The door to the cabin bursts open with frantic shouting, a voice of his brother, not his father, the man who Killian wants to see soon.

 

They camp out in the corner of the cabin, Liam’s arms wrapped around him tightly, the both of them with their eyes squeezed shut and hoping that the storm will end before they can end in a shipwreck.

 

A couple hours later when everything has calmed down, he hurriedly climbs up the ladder and opens the door entrance of the cabin, only to find the entire ship deserted of no one - not even their father. Killian falls to his knees right as the tears begin, discovering that they’ve all disappeared.

 

Days come and go and they end up back in-land after drifting for so long. The Captain’s Cabin is ripped of its remains, Killian finding a necklace shoved into the interiors of one of the drawers. Clutching the pendant of a sword to his chest, he slips it inside of his trouser pockets, soon to leave behind the ship and to follow Liam into land to gather supplies after looting the rest of the ship, finding whatever they can that will help them survive.

 

.~.

 

Liam joins the Navy as soon as he can and Killian follows, only to serve as the cabin-boy before he’s old enough to actually enlist and climb the ranks.

 

His nights spent with hand playing around with the necklace keep him at bay at some sorts. He’s eleven and has dreams such as figuring out what happened to Davy Jones. But for now, he sways back and forth with the rock of the ship on his little hammock, a lamp dimly lit while he examines the pendant over and over until he holds it over his chest tightly and falls asleep.

 

.~.

 

He’s twenty-three when he’s officially reached the rank of Lieutenant, serving abroad The Jewel of the Realm. He’s also twenty-three when Liam dies in his arms, when the loss of his brother hits too close to home like the time their father disappeared off the face of the Earth, never to be seen again. Everything darkens around him, hate consumes him, the need for revenge against the man who’s asked for such an invalid request to die by his hand. Everything hurts once again, and when he brings the necklace out the night they’ve buried Liam at sea, he wants to throw it across the room, chuck it into the sea, but he’s tired, bone-weary exhausted, so he sleeps.

 

Life for him he sees no longer a purpose all before he falls into the steps of being a pirate, after the declaration and the rowdy agreement from the crew. He’s his own Captain now,  _Captain Jones_  who commandeers the fleet of the fastest ship in all the realms,  _The Jolly Roger_.

 

Even after years spent in the Navy and his father’s insistence at always having a code of honour, he can’t shake it off while being a pirate. They pillage ships and plunder the supplies, they steal and trade with other mercenaries, but he’s always cautious and competes with proper deals with others, always holding up his end of the bargain, leaving men at mercy while on their knees, enough food and water to supply them back to the nearest port.

 

He, Captain Jones, is one of the most feared pirates of all the seas, despite the tiny bit of generosity he can provide.

 

Rum helps drastically, the effects of the liquor to numb his mind. It never hurts to drink it when memories resurface of the darkened skies and raging storms of the night his father disappeared, never hurts to vanquish the images of Liam dying too early in his younger brother’s arms. The agony is already too much to handle, but drinking helps push it away, helps him stand and be the Captain of his own crew and ship for another day.

 

He finds himself wearing the necklace everyday, hanging as almost as a forget-me-not. The reminder of what he’s gone through, the loss of family in his life and the thread of hope breaking in half officially. He remembers his father wearing it, only to take it off and store if away on the busy nights, as if it  _meant_ something more than just a mere pendant. Killian cherishes the item, despite the bad memories embossed within it.

 

When night has settled and few men are on deck to work through their shifts at keeping the ship anchored and safe, he stares at his reflection on the water, only to be reflected with a rippled image of himself - what it means.

 

 _Broken_ and  _never_ to be repaired once again. He’s lost everything dear to him already, what’s to say he’ll find something or someone worth living for?

 

.~.

 

It’s the night he meets Milah, curly dark hair with a fierce and strong personality does a little flame of hope begin to ignite.

 

It’s only another nightmare when she dies in his arms, saying, “I love you,” before the life drains from her. It’s only another reminder of how he’s not destined to have any sort of happiness, that only  _pain_ can drive through his blood. That everyone he ever loves  _always_ leaves - his mother, father, brother, and now the one person he would have dedicated his life to,  _gone_ in the blink of an eye before anything can prove otherwise. And once again, he devotes his blood and sweat into killing the demon for pulling her heart out and crushing it to dust, as if their own marriage had never meant anything.

 

Myths and legends roam the seas and taverns he enters, a man named Davy Jones who’s heart had been ripped out from his very chest and demanded to complete of illegal tasks no regular man would dare to endeavor and take part in. Magic exists and so does the use of hearts over control (a horrible experience at most with Milah) - he wonders if this Davy Jones is the man who raised him, or if it’s all just a petty story to keep the drunken pirates occupied and the other men entertained. Whatever it is, wherever he wanders across the seas and into land, the stories remain the same, and if not, have new additions to them which keep his brain fulfilled with odd theories.

 

.~.

 

The old flame is dying down, the one Milah first started.

 

Silence grows to be his company, the only bit of excitement showing when it’s a battle of ships, a duel of swords, or a loud night with the crew drinking. He’s shrouded by darkness, trapped between four walls he cannot escape, only left to pick up jagged pieces of himself that have been long extinguished when each person he loved vanished. Every little piece of the old Killian Jones dying. He is a shadow, a man who brings death upon those he cares for, nothing else.

 

The sea offers little comfort, but it’s better than the void.

 

Neverland and its cries remind him too much about the man who brought him to smiles as a wee child and the older brother who became his role model, only both to be ripped away from him far too soon.

 

.~.

 

After centuries spent in the hopes of destroying a man who brought him more pain, Emma Swan becomes a light in this dark room he’s been trapped in. She finally opens the doors to him, and when he walks through it, it’s more than he’s ever wanted. It’s more than what Milah had given him, more hope and desire than what he’s ever expected.

 

In due time, they bond, despite their differences and past encounters together that prove to be rather hysterical. Like how he’s asked about the necklace around her neck, he learns slowly about who she is, what she’s been through - she’s much of a kindred spirit, he reckons.

 

Busy days with going against new villains, curses, and monsters keep them occupied and away from sharing much of his past with her, never having enough time to get through stories. But he’s a part of something, this band of people who care for each other, who are heroes, and for once, everything in his life feels right. That even if he’s been a pirate for hundreds of years now, he’s found the good somewhere in this old heart of his.

 

It’s one of those nights back in his ship, after all the darkness has settled and the woman he loves is back in his arms, does curiosity spark on her part. “I once told you my necklace was a forget-me-not…what about yours?” she asks quietly, her fingers thumbing the pendants hanging around his neck.

 

“The sword…well, it’s much of a forget-me-not as well, something my father used to own,” he answers, neither brave or proud of his past with the man who’s been missing for all of his life now. “Went by the name of Davy Jones.”

 

 _“Davy Jones_? Damn, he’s real too,” she mumbles. “Was not expecting that.”

 

“Come on, Swan, you’ve come to live in a world of people surrounding you in fairy tales, I think it’s best that nearly every fictional character you’re aware of is quite real,” he teases.

 

She smiles and looks up at him, those curious green eyes finally lightening up. “You’re right. Tell me more about him, then.”

 

“He was…a good man, at least from what I remember.” He sighs, unable to recall too much from his ten year old self and under. The biggest, most vivid but haunting memory is the day he woke to find himself stranded along with his brother on an abandoned ship. “But I never knew what happened to him after he disappeared.” His ears perk at the sharp sound of gusts of wind hurling around outside, much like the same night everything went awry. “One day everything was fine, the next I find my ten year old self cramped in a corner with Liam, in the dark cabin, wind howling and waves extraordinary, hoping that everything would be alright.”

 

Tonight, he feels comfortable and better, that the largest winds and heaviest waves cannot sweep him away from the anchored spot Emma has provided him. “What do the stories of Davy Jones tell here, love?”

 

“Well, in the movie, he fell in love with this…woman…who was a goddess, Calypso. She made him in charge of carrying souls who died at sea from one side to another. Calypso provided Davy Jones with this ship called the  _Flying Dutchman_. She told him that in ten years, she would meet him and they could spend  _one_ day together, so of course, he went to do so. After accomplishing his task of a decade, she never showed up, which led to him believing she betrayed him.” She pauses, as if she’s trying to gather her thoughts. He purses his lips and runs his thumb over the indent of her spine. “He was in grief, heartbroken, really, so he removed his own heart and locked it in a chest to be stowed away on an island. The chest contained many things that was related with Calypso, and he always kept the key in his possession.

 

"And because he decided to abandon the assigned duties of what Calypso gave him, he became a pirate and did as he pleased, however because the deal of ferrying souls was broken, this…curse transformed their appearances slowly into sea monsters, representing the darkness inside of them. In any case, he’s immortal, and any man to serve on his ship had an oath of serving under him for an entire century.” Emma yawns then. “That’s all I really know from the movies.”

 

He’s stunned by the heart part, to be honest. He remembers the stories being told of how his father’s heart was possibly stolen, and  _god_ , what can he think about now? The similarities between this film and the possible reality is simply too much for him to comprehend by this point. “A dark tale,” he murmurs, his hand sifting through her blonde hair, the ship rocking along with the waves and wind. “Thank you for telling me.”

 

But she’s already asleep, curled up at his side, her fingers still wrapped around the pendant.

 

It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep too, dreaming of his father turning into a sea monster, the man he once admired and loved as a man of grief and pain from the lost of his lover. When his eyes open to morning, the light streaming in through the window of the ship, the faint image still appears in his mind, and he questions everything about it. There is a big question in history which will remain unanswered for the remainder of his life, but somehow, he doesn’t seem to care anymore.

 

Killian does not want an answer to the whereabouts of his father. He doesn’t want to know what happened to him.

 

He’s made peace and gotten enough closure to know that Davy Jones must have died with just as many question as his own son has now. Those questions and constant wondering is just not worth it, not when he has everything he need right next to him.

 


	44. i broke (pick me up?)

It’s dumb how she manages to  _slip_ in the shower.

 

The first thing that she realizes is it’s face forward so of course on instinct she sticks her arm out and break the fall, and yeah, she breaks the fall all right. With her arm. With her arm  _broken_.

 

“Ow!” she grunts out loudly, rubbing at her arm, the water from the shower head still spraying.

 

“Swan?”

 

She hears the knocks at the washroom door, she doesn’t exactly want her room mate to see her all naked - bare and open to the world - but it is Killian and he’s not one of the usual douche-y guys she’s met before.

 

And yes, she’s about sure she’s broken her arm since it hurts like a bitch and she’s stuck in the tub rolling back and forth with the world slick down her body like a baby. “The door’s open!” she shouts back, clutching her arm to her chest which is, of course, effectively applying  _pressure_ which means more  _pain_ , and  _Jesus_ what has she done to herself?

 

Really, it’s a surprise she’s not bawling like a child by this point, but it does hurt because impact with the metal of this tub. It feels unnatural to her of course, her mind registering that something is  _very_ wrong -

 

“Emma?” God, he sounds concerned - no shit - before he peeks through the shower curtain. “Bloody hell, what happened?”

 

“I’m surprised you’re not commenting about the fact I’m naked for you to see,” she jokes, trying to ignore the throbbing at her arm. Making light of her situation really shouldn’t be in the cards for her right now. He simply glares at her before glancing at the arm she’s holding on to. “Look, I think - I  _know_ I slipped - and I think I broke my arm because it  _really_ fucking hurts.”

 

“Although this is a wonderful view to take in, love, I’m more concerned for your well-being.” He sighs and turns the knob, the water stopping promptly while she’s still staring up at him, his face right above hers. “Come on, you can still stand, right?”

 

“Well, yes, but I’m working with  _one_ functioning arm, Killian. A little help would be appreciated, if you could.”

 

“It appears you grow quite demanding when you’re in pain.” He chuckles and offers his arm, awkwardly in a weird position, helping her stand up and out of the shower. “ _Though_ , I do enjoy this side of you.”

 

“Shut up and get me to a hospital before I decide to break this arm more and punch you with my hand.”

 

“Wouldn’t want a broken arm  _and_ hand, now would you, darling?”

 

It should still be a concern of hers that he’s looking at her  _naked form_ , but for some reason that’s not even on her list of worries. What she is worried about is this damn arm and its status, whether it’s broken or not. And if she’s going to have to go with a few weeks with a broken arm, she knows Killian is going to find ways to get on her nerves anyways, yet also end up being all sweet and caring simultaneously.

 

(She can oddly imagine him making her hot chocolate with cocoa, or fluffing her pillow, or even driving her to places at his own expense, but y’know, it never hurts to dream of those possibilities.)

 

She’s tired really. She just got home from an exhausting day at work ( _two_ bail jumpers in one day, help her for god’s sake), wanted to take a nice shower and cool down, but now her right arm - damn it, her right arm - could be broken, and that leaves so many things she doesn’t want to deal with in the near future with a broken right arm when she’s right-handed. Oh boy, what a wonderful day she’s having.

 

Emma is half-asleep when Killian tries to pull her out of his car, mumbling incoherent words (probably of  _why the bloody hell am I doing this_  to  _I did not sign up for my room mate having a broken arm_ ).

 

And her arm feels a bit numb now, the pain has dulled down at least, but it still lingers, and until she’s on a hospital bed in one of those ridiculous hospital gowns getting checked out, she doesn’t reckon she’ll feel any more than what she does now.

 

The thing is this is the day Whale is working, and he’s Ruby’s current boyfriend, which means he’ll be making fun of her for quite a bit while telling Ruby the highlights of what’s gone awry. Honestly, Emma would love to tell him she fell off a bike or something of the sorts, but those type of lies don’t work on people she’s befriended, or at least gotten herself acquainted with.

 

“She fell in the shower.”

 

“Aye,” Killian confirms.

 

“I can’t believe she managed that, but I’ll just need to do a quick scan to confirm whether it’s broken or not,” Whale explains, slight amusement lacing the words being spoken.

 

If anything, it’s the most embarrassing situation she’s found herself in. Worse than the time in college when she walked into the washroom to hear someone having sex, and nearly being caught at the victim who heard of it too.

 

“Emma, stay awake for a little longer, can you?” Whale requests, patting her thigh.

 

“Yeah, sure,” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes with her left hand, yawning shortly after. “Might wanna make the scan quick.”

 

.~.

 

Everything is pretty much a blur from the previous night, but her arm doesn’t really hurt anymore when she wakes up, the thing in a damned cast and all.

 

“Sleeping Beauty is finally up,” someone announces from beside her, immediately aware that it’s Killian.

 

She sighs and rolls her head to the side, noticing his blossoming smile and relief. “You do realize you’re gonna have to help me around the house for the next while,” she says, bringing up the topic, which, subsequently of course she  _was_ dreaming about moments ago before awaking from slumber.

 

“I’ve always liked a challenge,” he responds, shrugging slightly without a hint of worry at all.

 

And it isn’t until now that she realizes he’s holding her hand and running his thumb over her knuckles in a pattern, but whether it’s absent-minded or not, it feels actually kind of nice (who is she kidding? It feels  _really_ nice). Usually, if anything, the warning signals would be erratically being set off in her mind by now, but it’s silent, it’s blissful, and for a moment, she wonders what it would be like to be  _more than friends_. She figures it would be beyond anything she’d ever experienced before.

 

Emma doesn’t even think about the fact of how he suggests him signing her cast. She lets him do so with a black sharpie, and it really annoys her that she has to deal with this cast, despite the easy-going life she’s going to get for a bit. (Well, at least sort of easy-going. No task will really be easy when it comes to needing her right hand and being shown that her right arm and hand is completely incapable of anything.)

 

“There.”

 

She reads his message, and it’s something short and incredibly sweet.

 

**_Swan,  
This gives us more of an opportunity to spend time with each other, though it’ll mainly be me completing tasks that prove difficult to you. No worries, it’s no problem for me at all, I’m sure we can make things enjoyable. :)  
\- Killian Jones_ **

 

Killian also breaks the news that they don’t know when exactly her bones are going to heal from her fall, so they have scheduled appointments which can allow Whale to get an x-ray every once in a while to assess her progress. To be honest, she’s not fond of hospitals and their confining spaces, but she doesn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

 

.~.

 

Sleeping has never been such a struggle in her life.

 

In every possible position she’s tried, she hasn’t been able to fall asleep. The first while had been fine, the pain killers numbing her consciousness, but now that she doesn’t need the medicine, she’s been in bed awake for the past two hours, contemplating on whether she should just get out and watch TV, or get Killian to help. And even if the latter seems much more appealing, he’s exhausted from his day job and when it comes to her, he’s trying his best already.

 

Graham has somewhat mocked her in a way when she called in to work, declaring her broken arm as an obstacle to chasing after any bad guys, and the last thing she wants is to sit around and work on the paperwork that is surely set neatly on the side of her desk at the station, so yes, a paid leave was an offer she was willing to take.

 

And at some point of the week, Killian’s started to check up on her in the middle of the night.

 

Which is extremely sweet and kind of him, something no one else would ever probably do for her. Except Killian Jones. Cocky, co-owns a bar with Robin Locksley, ladies-man, but also has the other side of him like an angel -  _weird_.

 

Like on queue, the door cracks open and she looks at the movement, finding Killian’s head with messy dark hair sticking into her room.

 

"Hey,” she says quietly, “do you…have an extra pillow or cushion by any chance?”

 

He cocks a brow up, something still visible in the dark. “Aye, I’ve got a few in my room,” he answers. “Need one?”

 

“Yeah, I need to elevate this thing otherwise I don’t think I’ll manage to get any sleep tonight.” She sighs and reaches over with her fine hand, turning the lamp on. “Could you get me one?”

 

There’s no response but silence and a nod before he disappears from the doorway and into his room, returning with a pillow. Thoughtfully, he helps settle it in for her, arm propped up on the pillow across her chest, and yes, it feels so much better now. While he’s down, he kisses her forehead -  _damn him_. “Get some rest, yeah?” he murmurs, brushing some fallen hair behind her ear.

 

Emma smiles up at him, nodding.

 

But when he steps out of her room, she calls after him, “Killian?”

 

“Yes, love?”

 

“Thank you.”

 

His answering grin, a little coy, and this affectionate look in his eyes is enough for her to think about before falling into slumber with the same stupid smile plastered across her face until morning.

 

And maybe, just maybe, she brushes her lips across his after he hands her a mug of coffee, his lips tasting like the caffeine.


	45. first comes rivalry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** we always hated each other because we competed to be the best in class. But now we need to work together and I'm kind of jealous of the redhead lawyer that works next to us and I always see you flirting with. - Anonymous.

Killian Jones and Emma Swan do not get along.

 

They tolerate each other and bicker like a married couple (they are _not_ a married couple) and compete with each other in class every time they’re given the opportunity. It's not her fault she has a competitive side of her that wants to beat his ass in all of the classes they share together, to get admitted into Harvard Law.

 

Of course he's aiming for Harvard Law School, too, much to her own demise to know she'll have to deal with him further.

 

And she can admit Killian Jones is smart, the most intelligent guy she knows (despite his childish behaviour, which she clearly fights back against like a child, too) in all of her school. But she still despises him because it's like he's made to ruin everything, well not everything...but mostly everything.

 

They fight to see who gets higher marks, they fight to see who'll get chosen on by the teachers. They...fight for a lot of things and frankly, it's just a heated rivalry between them.

 

_"Swan!"_

 

_She groans, turning to face him as she adjusts her backpack from falling off her shoulders. "What is it, Jones?"_

 

_"That disgusted to see me, love? I'm wounded." He mocks her by setting a hand over his chest and she rolls her eyes at his over dramatic response. "Anyway, I thought we could...perhaps grab a bit of lunch and catch up. We've been so caught up battling each other since ninth grade and we're graduating high school soon, yet we've never really spent our time doing other things."_

 

_His implication is loud and clear, but there's something else behind those words. Killian may be cocky, the all-around perfect guy any girl could want, but it seems like he does want to spend some quality time with her - which of course, is a little unnerving at first. "Right, well, where did you have in mind?" she asks, keeping her cool._

 

_"Granny's?"_

 

_It's surprising to know he still remembers her favourite diner not far off from from school. "So you remembered," she says, quirking a curious brow to tease. "I'm surprised that you memorized something that's not law based."_

 

_"Swan, you're a sucker for ruining my ego."_

 

_She chuckles. "Good."_

 

Luckily for her, she's prepared herself for everything possible. However, despite the competition between she and Killian, she knows this means a lot to him as it does to her, so they study together on some days. He helps her on questions that she may struggle on, and she'll do the same, only to improve and merge their knowledge together on the potential questions on the upcoming LSAT.

 

At least then she doesn't want to chop his head off.

 

The day she does take her LSAT, she realizes she's registered at the place Killian is also at. _Ridiculous_ , she thinks, shaking her head and getting back into her game. He shoots her a smirk before the test begins.

 

And when she's done with ten minutes to spare, she sighs a quiet breath before checking her answers over a bunch of times to make sure she didn't make a stupid mistake. Even then, with the two minutes left, hearing the scribbling of answers and the proctor's shoes hit the floor, she's glad she's gotten the hard part over. The only thing left for her to do is wait with heavy anticipation. She doesn't doubt her own skills though, she _knows_ she'll do good, it's just that gut feeling she has - and her gut feelings are usually never wrong. Emma is also very aware Killian will do well as well, probably even better than her, but there will be plenty of time to compete later on.

 

They meet after they're dismissed, her actually bumping into his back as they exit the room.

 

"Ah, Swan," he greets, a cocky smile on his face. "How was the test?"

 

"Not hard," she responds with a shrug. "I'd assume you feel the same, right?"

 

"Aye, you guessed correctly." He sighs, his hand fidgeting with the strap of his backpack, the cocky bravado suddenly vanishing from view. "Do you...maybe want to grab lunch like we did awhile ago? I've actually missed spending some time with you, granted we've done some with studying, but...yeah, lunch?"

 

Of course she blocks the actual meaning out of what he's asked of her - he _misses_ her. "Oh, sure," she agrees, her lips curling into a small smile, despite the flutter she feels from this...shyer side of him. "Where to this time?"

 

"Well, there's this coffee shop nearby," he suggests. "Thought we could give that a shot. May not be Granny's but I suppose we'll get used to not having that diner near us anymore."

 

And she feels something, something like sadness because Granny's is the first place he took her to ( _together_ ), a place where they put aside their competition and pent up tension and hate for each other to just relax and talk like normal people. Like...friends.

 

.~.

 

When she finds her score to be a 172, it's almost like she feels a wave of relief flush through her. Not like she'd been worrying, but it still was nagging at her somehow. She's well within the safe zone, _above_ her own expectations.

 

But then Killian comes raining in with a text message, saying he got 174, and she has to take a hot shower to forget about him and her stupid defeat.

 

.~.

 

They're in the same school, the same classes, even offered the same co-op opportunities from their professors.

 

So basically, she has to deal with Killian Jones 100% of her week, impossible to avoid or ignore him. Not like she needs to do that - nope, she just does what she does best. Takes notes, absorb information, _learn_ , and defeat him in everything she can.

 

They switch between first and second place in class all the time (no one's keeping track, just the two of them), and it's petty and childish and really, this game has been going on since grade _nine_. It sounds pathetic in hindsight, really. But in so many other ways, it's motivation, it makes her day pass by faster, let's herself enjoy her time.

 

And she tries not to think about their future, how they'll probably drift off to different states after Harvard, how they'll possibly never talk to each other ever again.

 

Those thoughts are thoughts she is going to push away for now.

 

.~.

 

Things get... _fierce_ to an extent between them. No one dares to get in between their rivalry, which is well established to the point where plenty of students have noticed and talk about it in the halls. Yes, she notices the glares from other students, sometimes it's envy or jealousy, other times it's just amusement or something kind.

 

"Little tip, love?" he offers after he shows her the essay he scores a better mark on than her. "Be more opinionated in this class, he marks a little easier when he likes someone who can justify clearly and elaborately."

 

"Uh-huh," she hums, hardly paying attention to what he has to say.

 

"Rude of you to ignore me."

 

She furrows her brows. "Who said I was ignoring you? _Justify_ , would you?"

 

He purses his lips which then turns into a knowing grin, shaking his head in laughter. "You've bested me this time, Emma."

 

.~.

 

The years go by quick, she witnesses him grow up, everything doing him justice. He's got a properly trimmed scruff, his eyes are still blue but she takes to notice them more now, and his devilish smirks and flirtatious comments become more common by graduation year. (And oh, he goes to the Gym in his spare time.) But this means it's all over. The competition, the frequent banters, the afternoons of studying and working intensely, then the evenings of having a quick dinner with him once in awhile.

 

It means separation, and she's had a fair share of _that_ aftermath.

 

They give out other awards, of course, and the both of them take their turns up on stage to accept them. Sure, it'll look fantastic on her resume, but her thoughts are swarmed and consumed by the thought of leaving behind Killian. In high school, she worried less because she knew he'd get into Harvard, that they would both make it. And now they're both lawyers who studied criminal law, and then family law on their spare time with an expansive set of knowledge that could be acquired by an big league company. Chances are pretty low for them to end up at the same firm.

 

And it's against her own will to admit that through all the heated arguments they've had, all the hours spent together in usual silence during studying, all the times she's gone out to lunch with him or dinner, she's grown _feelings_ for him.

 

Emma Swan has a stupid, little crush on Killian Jones; at the worst possible time, of course, for her to realize.

 

So the day they go their separate ways, she tries to not cry at how he kisses her forehead and wishes her good luck.

 

("We may have never liked each other, but I'd say we had a great rivalry while it lasted, love."

 

"Yeah.")

 

.~.

 

In all of her luck, _how_ in the world does she end up at the same law firm with Killian?

 

(She's technically not going to complain, she nearly cried when she said goodbye to him a few months ago; so, she is a little happy to know she gets to see him again.)

 

Searching for a job isn't hard, it's why she's in her new guaranteed position now at the Nolan's Law Firm, but that's not the only case. It's the case that she befriended Mary Margaret who is _apparently_ David Nolan's wife, which got her a job. So yes, she's a little lucky in this case, of course. But she's not complaining, no not at all. It's one of the most prestigious firms out there, and if she can work her ass off here, there's nothing to be ungrateful about.

 

So on her first day, she's shocked to figure out Killian has his spot right next to her.

 

(Not like she really kept his phone number to keep in contact to know where he's working.)

 

(Actually, it's just because she got a new phone and forgot his number.)

 

"Swan?"

 

"Nice to see you too," she grumbles, plopping down in her seat. "It's been awhile."

 

His tongue swipes his lower lip. "Aye, it - uh - has, hasn't it? So you're the new one."

 

"Yep," she practically sighs, spinning in her seat to look at him.

 

"I was told the _new one_ would be my new partner in criminal law."

 

"What?"

 

"Dave didn't tell you?"

 

"Dave?"

 

" _Mr. Nolan_ ," he states as if it's the obvious. "He informed me that there would be a new person coming in and that there's a case they want us to work on together. I'm assuming it's you, Swan - who else would be the new one who is conveniently seated right next to me?"

 

It appears then that Killian and their _boss_ are close friends, considering Killian calls him by his first name more often than his last.

 

She would have eluded herself out of there by now - she has to work with Killian on this case. But she hasn't decided on running yet. Running wouldn't do much favour to her under these circumstances. Sure she's got to work with him, but that's not really much of an issue when she thinks about it. Argue or not, they always end up agreeing on a finalized point in the end.

 

"I guess so, then." She shrugs.

 

And she's used to seeing him in a suit, she's seen him in formal clothing for so long, it's just a little nostalgic, that in all of the US, she ends up in New York with this new job with an old...friend/rival who's her new partner. It appears that she'll be seeing him every single day _again_ , but there's nothing poisonous about that, frankly, it's just that it's sort of astounding to try and comprehend.

 

"Fancy a coffee later?"

 

Emma scoffs, _unbelievable_. "Later."

 

.~.

 

Soon, she learns that Killian does enjoy his time flirting with the girl that's next to them, Ariel - was it? She also works in criminal law, but she's working on a completely different case from she and Killian, so that's not much of a matter in her hands.

 

She's been so used to hearing him use _love_ and _darling_ on her, so she's not fond of how he uses it on Ariel too.There's a different lilt to his voice when he speaks to her. He's not even _subtle_ in his advances with that woman, openly making innuendos and requests for dinner which she accepts. And Emma can't help but feel a little jealous, feeling like she should be in Ariel’s place, but Emma Swan knows better than to pine for a man who has eyes for another.

 

And she respects that - she does.

 

Besides, they've only ever been friends and rivals, it's not like they're exes with lingering feelings for each other.

 

(Well _she_ still has a bit of feelings for him, always comparing other men to _Killian Jones_ because none of them really understand her like he does.)

 

Emma Swan and Killian Jones never make it past having lunch together or grabbing a cup of coffee. Ariel and Killian do.

 

Between work and personal life, she's got nothing exciting at all. She's never really been into social interaction in the first place, and well, if she goes out to a pub or a bar, she ends up as almost someone's one-night stand target, and she does not find it intriguing. Perhaps it's the few times she's tried going out in the past few months, only to result in utter failure does she now not go out too often unless it's with a group of friends or two.

 

However, it appears that Killian Jones can still bring it out of her to join him for a drink.

 

With Ariel.

 

To be honest, it's a little fun. She's entertained by the live music enough to keep her eyes off of the way Ariel and Killian are really close together, practically glued to each other. She still notices, of course, the way Ariel's pressed to his side, the way he whispers in her ear and they're both laughing.

 

She may not know what actually _loving_ someone feels like, but she sure does feel jealousy. Emma wants to be in Ariel's position, to be the one in his arms pressed against his firm chest, to know what it feels like to have his breath warm against her, to know how it feels like to have his gentle touches caress her skin in the best possible way, to know how it feels to be _cared about_ by another person. But Emma Swan has not been cared about by anyone for a long, long time - she reckons nothing will change that.

 

So whatever dreams she has, whatever her imagination puts to use, is nothing but making her purely jealous of the woman in his arms.

 

For the rest of the night, she pays attention to the drink sitting in front of her,watching the liquid swirl around the glass. She can walk home, it's no big deal.

 

(Has she mentioned she took a martial arts class for two months?)

 

The alcohol burns her throat when she downs the rest in one go. Whatever jealousy she's feeling tonight is making her actually _hot_ , and it's also elicited this behaviour of _I'm going to drink to forget that the guy I have a crush on has a thing going on with our other co-worker_. She knows it's not going to work out in the morning, but her day off is tomorrow, so even if she wakes up hungover slumped over the toilet, there's nothing she can do about it.

 

Nor does she intend to. Jealousy is one thing, ruining her friend's happiness is another.

 

Occasionally, Killian's leg will bump hers, or he'll purposefully kick her shin to catch her attention; catch her attention she does, only to glare at him for a moments time and then return back to nursing her liquor.

 

He still has his own undivided attention on Ariel, anyways. Not like _she_ matters.

 

So, setting her palms flat on the table, she pushes her chair out and declares it's time for her to get home - though the place she calls home isn't actually home - which is more of a placeholder. "I'll see you two Monday," she mumbles, throwing her cash at the barista before making a beeline out the door, the rush of cool air hitting her skin.

 

It's a cool New York night, also a shitty one in her case, having to deal with that nonsense all night. Why she even put up with it, she doesn't know, but she does just want to go back to her apartment, clean herself up, and -

 

"Swan! Emma!"

 

She turns at the calling of her name, finding Killian running after her. "What do you want?"

 

"I think the question is _why_ are _you_ leaving?" he asks, his voice so gentle, as if she's that fragile she'll shatter.

 

Maybe she will, maybe she will crack and break into pieces tonight. She really likes the man in front of her, but he doesn't reciprocate, he likes the woman who's...sitting in the pub still. "Because I'm tired and I want to take a shower and then crawl into bed without worrying about seeing you two -" she sighs, struggling to find the words "- lovebirds tomorrow. So I can just spend my Sunday alone like usual and not have to see you flirt with her every second of the day."

 

"I sense jealousy, darling," he states bluntly. "Swan...I, Ariel and I? We're nothing, actually." He fiddles with his fingers before one hand moves to scratch behind his ear. Both are nervous ticks of his. "I like you, Swan, hell, I've fallen in _love_ with _you_."

 

"What? So you enlisted Ariel to help and make me _jealous_ all this time? Was that your plan?"

 

He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Aye," he begins slowly, "because I don't know what you feel for me. I've loved you for a long time, Emma, since we were in Harvard. But I didn't know how to approach you without seeming like some bloke who wanted to get in your pants for one night." She can feel her heart soar to skies she's never seen, a little stunned by both his words and the alcohol. "I wanted Ariel to assist with getting you jealous, and now that I think about it, it was a horrible plan to begin with. I'm sorry."

 

She's heard enough apologies to know when one is sincerely genuine or not. She’s only known him to become a shy guy when it comes to the truth, when it comes to being honest about something he’s terribly embarrassed about. Emma sees, under the lighting of the streetlamp, him biting his lower lip in worry that he’s screwed things over. She sees his eyes dart around a couple of times, avoiding her gaze before he looks at her from beneath his eyelashes.

 

There’s the buzz of the alcohol and the flurry of activity around them, but she only sees Killian. Him admitting that he loves her is probably the best thing that’s happened all night - no, that is not the tequila speaking.

 

"Just - _god_ \- I just want to go back to my apartment and think about this when my mind is clear from all the tequila I had."

 

"Perhaps...I can walk you home?"

 

There's no energy left inside of her to protest, so she nods and lets him walk her back. He's quiet the entire way, but she's still awake enough to notice that his eyes are focused on her, some sort of longing feeling surrounding them.

 

Weary-eyed and half-awake, she lets Killian in because he's insistent on at least getting her in front of her door before leaving. But she's tired by the time she's in the elevator alone with him. Her head falls on his shoulder and she thinks she feels his arm slip around her waist and tuck her closer against him, but she's not entirely sure.

 

But it's not the fact that he doesn't leave when she's at her door or inside her apartment, it's how he stays and shuts the door behind him after she's taken her boots off. It's how he scoops her up without her consent and heads down the hallway and into the room at the end of it, which is also her bedroom, depositing her gently on the bed. "Sit up, my love," he murmurs, and she does, the endearment not even bothering her.

 

Then, _then_ it's the way he removes her jacket, the way he quickly finds a pair of pajamas for her to wear, the way he tucks her in and wishes her a goodnight with a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek, his nose bumping against hers in the softest way. The way his voice is so sweet and caring and _everything_ the opposite of the Killian Jones she knows when it comes to competition.

 

This side of him is different, she wonders when he developed it, but somewhere deep down, she knows Killian is always a tender, kind man at heart.

 

She may be exhausted, _really_ exhausted, but she knows she loves him. She's always loved him.

 

And at first it was rivalry, then it was friendship, and soon following, something _new_.

 

She now knows what it feels like to be in his arms, to feel his breath against her skin, to feel his gentle touches, to be _cared_ about. And it's different, a new experience. But there's this beauty to it, the way she wakes up the next morning with a nasty headache, only to be eased away by Killian, to feel his arms wrapped around her so protectively, so possessively. To run her hand over his cheek, feeling the stubble prick her skin, and then him waking up because of her touch, a lazy smile and a press of his lips against hers, only the briefest of them all.

 

And she wants more. _More_.

 

"I love you, Swan," he murmurs, tightening his arms ever so slightly. "More than words can describe, probably."

 

"How sweet of you," she whispers, a little bit of mockery added to her tone. "I -" she yawns, interrupting her own self, "- I love you, too."

 

And maybe she doesn't know what loving feels like, but now she does - at least she thinks she does. It's a fantastic feeling that fills her, that makes her giddy and looking forward to spending time with him. It makes her want to say _I love you_ to him every chance she gets.

 

"Mmm, that's a lovely statement to hear," he says in a teasing tone, smirking when he leans in, pressing his forehead to hers. "I also believe I love seeing you like this in my arms in the morning."

 

She giggles. Emma Swan does _not_ giggle, but she just did. And she couldn't be happier.

 

Something _new_ is something she wants to try now. And something tells her she won't be let down, that he'll always make an 100% effort as she, that they'll ace every bump along the way.

 


	46. 9 & 10 (between now & then)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** "you kissed me on the playground the day before you moved away in the 4th grade and now your dorm is right across the hall from mine" because I saw a post with this and needed it and then remembered your amazing writing. - an-internet-friend
> 
> a/n: woops, got carried away.

Whatever first possessed Emma to kiss Killian Jones – well, there’s not much of a reason behind it anymore besides the fact she’s kissing him.

 

And she’s 9 years old, little information on love and care and anything family based, but she likes Killian and he’s the only friend she’s really had since grade 2. Now, now they’re in grade 4, and she’s grown to be fond of him, only to be ripped away from him due to another foster system change. She may be 9, but she knows all the pain that comes with abandonment.

 

“I –“

 

“Emma…” he trails off. “Emma, why did you kiss me?”

 

“I’m leaving,” she blurts out. “Moving.”

 

“Why?”

 

“My foster parents don’t want me anymore,” she murmurs, shaking her head as the tears begin to pool in her eyes.

 

He pulls her into his arms. He’s always been a little bit larger and taller, one year older than her, more experience and understanding compared to anyone else she’s ever met. He’s from England, he has an older brother who loves and teases hi, he’s smart in Math, English, and Science, he knows how to play a bit of the guitar, he loves to draw and paint.

 

It’s not a time to grieve, she doesn’t have any time to, actually. In less than an hour, she’s expected to be back at the house to gather her things before being moved tomorrow, but here she is at the school playground alone with Killian, the memories of the past two years something she needs to cling onto.

 

“Hey, we’ll meet again,” he assures her. “Family always find each other, right?”

 

She lets herself believe that.

 

.~. 

 

It’s basically been a decade since she’s seen or heard from Killian Jones.

 

She misses him. Deeply.

 

It’s been a decade yet she still wishes she could see him again, even if it’s for a day. But no, she’s heading off to college, she’s going to get her degree, she’s going to find a job, and she’s going to move on with her life (attempt to, at most) and forget Killian Jones. Family always find each other? Bullshit. She’s gone past that stage of hope, she’s aware. Then again, she never put much of an effort to actually find out where he is, so who’s to blame?

 

Now, it appears that she’s sharing a dorm with her friend, Mary Margaret.

 

And it also appears that a tall, dark-haired man with is living across from her in the opposite dorm.

 

She tries not to think of the little boy who was dark-haired with the bluest eyes she’s ever seen, she tries not to remind herself of the pain and misery of waiting for him to somehow rush back into her life, but sometimes, it’s a helpless attempt to.

 

“Emma,” Mary Margaret says, “which side of the room do you want?”

 

“Oh, um, doesn’t matter to me, you can take first claim if you want.” Emma shrugs, setting her box of belongings on the floor.

 

There’s a knock at their open door, and she turns around to face the man she only caught a mere glimpse at earlier. He has blue eyes, scruff, something _oddly_ familiar about his appearance and…aura. Just, being near him reminds her of Killian.

 

“Hello, ladies,” he greets. “Thought I’d get acquainted with the people across the hall while my roommate unpacks.”

 

“Hi,” she responds. “I’m Emma –“ she points at Mary Margaret who’s bent down, but looks up and waves, “- that’s Mary Margaret.”

 

The man smiles. “I’m Killian Jones.”

 

Her world stops spinning.

 

 _This_ is Killian Jones? Out of all places to meet, his dorm is right across from hers, they attend the same college, and it’s been an entire decade. Whatever possibility brought them back together, she’s either angry or elated. Angry because why couldn’t they have met again earlier? Elated because she’s missed him a lot and suddenly they’re _so_ close again. Literally. Like two feet out of her room, she’ll reach Killian’s dorm.

 

“Lass?” he asks, snapping her out of her thoughts. “I was wondering if you wanted a drink.”

 

She wonders if she should just tell him who she is – tell him that she’s the nine year old girl who decided to kiss her on impulse at the playground before she moved away from the insistence and non-excusable foster parents she had back then.

 

“Oh yeah, sure,” she quickly replies, a nervous smile reaching her lips. “I’ll come along. Mary Margaret, you want anything?”

 

“Nope, I’m good! I’ll get settled in first, you have fun.”

 

Killian has a smile on his face, the one she’s somehow remembered, when she turns back to him. A raises eyebrow, and arm out, allowing her to leave first. “Gentleman, much.”

 

“Oh, love, I’m _always_ a gentleman.”

 

There’s something about his voice now, maybe the way the term _love_ curls off his lips, or the way he nearly laces _always_ with some insinuation. Either way, this Killian Jones has grown from his old self, the one she used to be more familiar with. His voice is obviously much deeper, his accent feels heavier, puberty has done him _good_.

 

They walk in relative silence before she decides to break it and tell him. “Killian?”

 

“Aye?”

 

“You don’t happen to remember the nine year old that kissed you on the playground, do you?”

 

She suddenly notices him stop in his tracks in the dorm hallway, right before the exit. She turns and watches his eyes widen and his mouth open to gape at her before he’s crushing her in a hug, his more toned arms wrapped around her body. It feels _nice_ to be hugged by him, or touched, even. The comfort is still the same the day he hugged her before she had to go.

 

“Gods, Swan,” he murmurs, pulling back slightly. “It’s really you?”

 

“No, I just happened to know a piece of information only two people in the world know about,” she mutters sarcastically, noticing his eye roll. “I still can’t believe I _kissed_ you and I was nine. Nine! I hardly knew the real definition of a kiss back then.”

 

He hums thoughtfully, his hands sliding down her arms. “How about now?”

 

“I – I don’t know,” she murmurs, stumbling on her words. She’s a literal mess with this man, his eyes, his smile, his accent, his personality. So, concisely, his entire self.

 

“Emma, may I kiss you?” he asks quietly, his hands sliding to rest at her waist.

 

She’s scared to say _yes_ even though she does want him to kiss her; she wants to know how his lips feel against hers. So, she leans forward slowly, hoping he catches on to her more physical admission, ignoring the current buzz of students walking past them. And he does catch on, his eyes closing and his lips pressing against hers, and suddenly, just like when she first knew his name was Killian Jones ten minutes ago, it’s like the world stops around her.

 

There’s some gentle but insistent about the way he moves his lips against hers, how one of his hands slide dangerously low to her back, but stopping before it goes any further. When he pulls back, she shamelessly chases after him only to stop, knowing they can’t get carried away. He knows how to kiss better than she, but hey, she’d _love_ to kiss him so more to add onto the experience she could possibly get.

 

“I’d say you’ve improved,” he jokes lightly, his hands cupping her cheeks. “Bloody hell, love, I wish we’d found each other faster.”

 

“Yeah,” she agrees simply, too flustered still to respond with anything else.

 

He grins and presses his forehead against hers. “Perhaps…I can take you out some time? Catch up and all.”

 

“A date?”

 

“Erm –“ he coughs, clearing his throat, “- aye, a date.”

 

She didn’t need to ask for clarification, but she wanted to anyways. In any case, she nods in agreement before he suggests they better get their drinks.

 

.~.

 

Things are easy between them. On the upside, they’re two steps apart, it makes visiting each other and saying good night easier. But even by then, she reaches for her phone while in bed, sending him another message which he responds to at record speed.

 

 _Then_ things begin to shift. Mary Margaret meets David Nolan, the man that is Killian’s roommate. They hit it off quite quickly, and suddenly, they’re basically displacing roommates, trading each other off on some nights. Sometimes they’ll go on double dates off campus, sometimes they’ll have their own group study sessions to help one or two people prepare for an exam. And in Killian’s case, he shows them his art, his sketches and paintings which always render her speechless. His talent is unlimited, plenty of potential for a successful artist in his future.

 

At some point, he begins to sell his work which gains him quite a bit of money - she’s proud of him.

 

Their final year, he tells her something that…changes things.

 

“Swan…I’ve made quite a bit of money,” he murmurs, “and I’ve decided I want to move out of the dormitory.”

 

She widens her eyes at the news. She _likes_ having him right across from her, accessible to call for him or get him to come over. “What?”

 

“Before you hyperventilate, listen to me first.”

 

Emma exhales a deep breath, nodding. “Okay.”

 

“With this money, love, I want to rent an apartment. I want to rent _us_ an apartment, Emma, I want you to move in with me.”

 

“You’re…” She rubs her forehead when she trails off, letting his words sink in.

 

“Perhaps I’ve not made this clear enough.” He laughs, a little nervously she notices, taking her hands in his. “As much as we’re only two steps away from each other at school, it still seems far. I’d rather wake up with you in my arms, get to kiss you and cook and watch TV with you when you can’t sleep. I want to come _home_ to you every day. I want us to skip those two steps we need to take to reach each other.”

 

The answer is simple, it is. This doesn’t scare her at all, actually. He makes her feel loved, cherished, cared for, unlike the foster families or group homes she’s been in. It’s more than anything she’s ever wanted, actually.

 

“I love you,” she blurts out, squeezing her eyes shut. “I love you, and _yes_ I’ll move in with you if you find a suitable apartment.”

 

And when she opens her eyes, his gaze holds so much admiration and happiness, it’s more than anything. “ _When we_ find a suitable apartment,” he corrects, pressing his lips to her forehead. “You’ve got as much input as I do, Swan. And I love you too, darling,” he murmurs. “Have for quite a long time.”

 

There’s no lie to his statement of loving her for a long time coming, but it still warms her in incredible ways to hear him saying it to her. Probably just as how he feels when she told him he loves her; because she does, she really loves him and she honestly can’t imagine a life without him in it. Can’t imagine it’s not him making her soup or grabbing NyQuil when she’s sick; can’t imagine it’s not him showing her his sketchbooks full of scattered ideas and portraits; can’t imagine it’s not him trying to wake her up after their previous night’s activities which kept them up late.

 

Just like that, they begin to look for apartments before the semester starts.

 

And it definitely takes them awhile to locate the one they want in terms of distance from the college, having most of the space and rooms they want. It works out in the end, and honestly, she couldn’t be happier of how it’s turned out. On the weekend, they gather their stuff, get ridiculous bear hugs by their roommates, _“It’s not like we won’t see each other again, jeez!”_

 

It’s a lot of fun, actually. There are a few boxes sitting around the living room and the new bedroom, _their_ bedroom.

 

In their spare time from classes and work, they unpack stuff. She sorts out her clothes into the first two drawers of the dresser and hangs a few jackets in the closet. She leaves a majority of the space left for Killian – it’s not like she has that many clothes or other trinkets to fill up storage. The queen-sized bed is on the adjacent wall from the door, white comforter and dark grey pillows. The window at the other side has light grey curtains pulled to the side.

 

She notices something on one of the nightstands, a framed photo she doesn’t remember.

 

It’s of her and Killian, a selfie, basically.

 

With a smile, she shakes her head knowing that Killian is obviously the one do frame pictures and put them in places.

 

“Swan?”

 

She glances up from her spot on the bed. “Oh, hey,” she greets, standing up to go kiss him briefly. “How was class?”

 

“The usual.” He yawns, the strap of his bag slipping off his shoulder, throwing it to the side. “I missed you,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around her and pushing her toward the bed. _Their_ bed. “Did you miss me, love?”

 

She giggles – actually _giggles_ – thanks to him. “Yes,” she answers, falling onto the mattress with a bounce, his face tucked to the side of her neck, “I missed you, Killian.”

 

He hums, pressing a kiss to her neck, her jaw, and then to her cheek. “Good.”

 

“You’re surprisingly more affectionate than usual,” she says, only noting what she’s observed. “I’m not complaining though.”

 

“Lack of sleep,” he grumbles, “blame that if you want an excuse.” He chuckles when they switch positions, her on top and him on the bottom. “I _prefer_ being on top, darling, but –“

 

Playfully, Emma slaps his chest, eliciting more laughter from the both of them. “You were right, you know.”

 

“I’m right about a lot of things, I believe you’ll need to specify.”

 

“About moving in together,” she begins, “because I prefer looking forward to having the man I love come home to me, or being able to come home to _him_. It’s better than _just_ being across the hall from each other.”

 

“The man you love,” he repeats quietly, smirking. “I quite like the sound of that.”

 

She sighs – not angry, honestly, not even surprised. “Is that all you heard?”

 

“No, definitely not.” He grins, nuzzling her nose. “Thank you for agreeing to move in together in the first place.”

 

“I love you.”

 

It’s becoming easier to say almost every day. The more she says it, the more easier it gets, but the fear of losing him still lingers around sometimes. However when he says it back with his sweet smile, only sincerity in his voice, she knows she doesn’t need to worry about him leaving her; they’re family, and family will always find each other, they’ll always stay, too.

 

“And I you, Emma.”

 


	47. a petal from my flower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Alright, I couldn't resist... when you have the time: "I’m a punk singer and am hiding from fans in a florists and you work here and are snarky and funny and are adorable go out with me?" (this is too cute not to have it written!) - lenfaz
> 
> a/n: okay, I know nothing about the genre of punk, so let’s just keep him to being a famous singer in general? plus, I twisted the plot of the prompt around a little bit to make this longer that it should have been.

It’s less than pleasant to be chased by a wave of fans. Honestly, he’s back in the town he grew up in for the next couple of months, and he reckoned it’d be free of people wanting to take a picture or getting an autograph, but apparently not.

 

So, he does what he only can do, runs and hides at the nearest shop possible.

 

He ends up inside a florist shop, the smell immediately giving it away. It’s a nice smell, though, of several flowers combining together, the aroma that is quite inviting when first entered. He glances around and it’s pretty empty, but he’s sure the jingle of the door opening should have alerted whoever owns the place they have a…customer (not really) hiding out.

 

“Welcome to…oh.”

 

The voice is a woman, he realizes, eyes darting around quickly to find the blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, green eyes slightly widened. “Hello, love,” he greets, his hand going through his hair, stunned by her simple beauty. “Sorry to interrupt, but from that reaction, I assume you recognize who I am?”

 

“Yeah, I do.” She laughs quietly. “Hiding out?”

 

“Am I bothering you?”

 

“No, not really.” She shrugs, leaning her elbows on the counter, clasping her hands together. “Heard you were returning to town - didn’t think you’d end up in my flower shop of all places, though.”

 

He chuckles, removing his sunglasses and clipping it on the V of his black shirt. “Apologies none the less, milady.”

 

“Huh, news don’t lie about how you’re a gentleman.”

 

“Inside and out.” Killian smiles at her. He swings his head from one side to another, glancing at all the beautiful flowers set on display. “You own the place…”

 

“Swan. Emma Swan.”

 

“Well, do you own the place, Swan? Quite a paradise here with all these lovely flowers,” he compliments, his fingers drifting delicately from one petal to another. “I don’t remember a flower shop from the days I spent here from before, forgive me for my lack of knowledge on newly opened shops.”

 

Emma sighs. “Yeah, I do. Sort of new,” she begins, “but it’s been couple of weeks.”

 

Killian takes note in the lack of information she willingly provides, noticing how she gives very little details, more or less vaguely than anything. And perhaps there’s a reason to that. She does seem like she’s not having the best day of her life right now, but the look lingering in her eyes has been even before he entered the shop, so at least he knows _he_ isn’t the reason she’s lacking a smile. Maybe he’ll be capable of eliciting something from her if he begins to joke and flirt.

 

“I must say, lass, you’ve got a fantastic knack for handling these.” He’s being honest, actually. He’s never seen such flowers in these states before, never been so intrigued to lean forward and smell them and never had the urge before to examine the intricate details of the stem or flowers.

 

There’s a bit of blush to her cheeks - which is oddly adorable – when he glances up to meet her gaze. He’s made plenty of girls blush before, but seeing Emma Swan with that bit of red on her lips and the hint of a smile has never made him so happy in his life.

 

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “I bet you have a knack with flirting, huh?”

 

“Caught me red-handed,” he jokes, shaking his head with a big grin. “Don’t suppose you’re going to attempt and stop me from saying anything, would you?”

 

“My flowers are far more important than the singer hiding out in my shop.” She shakes her head. “Have all the fun you want, but I’m not going to bother with stopping you. Just don’t snap a stem or anything. You break, you buy,” she warns strictly.

 

There’s something about Emma Swan, a little snarky but confident and stubborn and shy all the same. Something that really gets him, really intriguing. “I’ll endeavour not to break, then,” he tells her with a sly grin, “though buying wouldn’t be that much of an issue really. Perhaps I’ve ought to…brighten up my house. Flowers would do quite nicely, right?”

 

But she does not respond to him, only a raise of an eyebrow and a curt nod before she’s turning to head to the back of the shop, curiosity hitting him. Whatever she’s doing, he’d like to know. Really, no woman has ever captured his attention like this before, and despite it being a little forced around the edges because he’s come to here to hide for the time being, he’d much willingly stay and keep her company. But it’s only time before a consumer walks in with the intention of buying something, her emerging from the back.

 

He simply walks around the relatively large shop, looking at the names, discovering new flowers he’s never even heard of before. It’s sort of like a field trip from school, in a way, but he’s still distracted by Emma, the way she speaks with such understanding and intelligence. This is her forte, clearly, and how she interacts with the customers all kindly leaves him captivated in knowing more about her. Granted these next few months off (hopefully under the radar once the paparazzi and entertainment news move on to another target) he’ll be able to learn more about her.

 

There’s a rose bush with thorns.

 

That’s how he imagines her as. Pretty and lovely as the flower, but a little deadly with her own guard of thorns when anyone attempts to get too close.

 

It seems like any resolve of his to not get involved with any woman is coming to an end. Emma Swan is the end of that – she’s already managed to cause that to crumble into ashes.

 

In the end, he does purchase some flowers. A bouquet of yellow tulips, Asiatic lilies, and a few green hydrangea with other lush greens involved. It has a faint willow smell, something refreshing. It’s like she doesn’t expect him to buy it when he comes up to pay.

 

“So you’re buying? Honestly, I didn’t expect that you would.”

 

“I’m wounded, Swan.” He feigns his pain dramatically, causing her to laugh while she checks his order out.

 

He pays, knowing he’ll be seeing her around more often. “See you around, love?”

 

She shrugs, a glimmer of hope flashing before her eyes before it dulls down, only a small smile to curl at her lips. “Sure.”

 

Her answer is more than enough.

 

.~.

 

He catches her at Granny’s sometimes for lunch - the best diner around town of course. There’s a hot cocoa with cinnamon sprinkles, onion rings, and a grilled cheese sitting in front of her. He catches her eye, smiles, and turns back to his food.

 

For now, he’ll store that information inside for later.

 

.~.

 

The second time coming, he ends up in her shop _again_ because of crazy fans. Killian is personally not surprised that he’s grown fond of running and hiding before they can find him. Of course he’s thankful for his fans, but the man needs a break from all this fame and popularity. He’d like to live a normal, quiet life for once – is that too much to ask for?

 

“Again?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest.

 

He bites his lower lip gently, holding up a Granny’s take out bag. “Can lunch be compensation?”

 

Emma’s eyes narrow. “What do you have?”

 

.~.

 

Once, he catches her by the docks, just sitting on the bench with her head thrown back and eyes shut. He doesn’t approach her, no, he simply backs away and lets her have her own moments of peace.

 

Perhaps they’ve got more in common than he’s anticipated.

 

.~.

 

Frankly, he admits that the _Swan’s Floral Arrangements_ has become the one place he knows he can run to when things get a little wild, a little too hectic for his liking when out in public. For the third time in a month, he ends up with his back against the door, heaving a breath to regain some oxygen he’s lost from running.

 

By this point, she’s already offering him a bottle of water without any questions being asked. She definitely knows.

 

“You know, if you just gave them what they wanted they would probably stop trying to chase you,” she suggests.

 

It’s a smart idea actually, something to consider, but he decides not to. He smirks. “What fun would that be?”

 

When he winks, she rolls her eyes and saunters off behind the counter and to the back room, leaving him to only uncap the bottle and take a sip, relishing in the coolness knowing that Emma Swan is the one that leaves him hotter than the actual physical sprinting does.

 

.~.

 

It becomes routine that he’ll bring her lunch sometimes. It also becomes routine that nearly every two weeks, he buys some new flowers to freshen up his house. To make it feel more like…home.

 

“Do you even _water_ them properly, Killian?”

 

“I’ll have you know every flower I’ve purchased from here is still alive and well, Swan!” he exclaims with raised eyebrows.

 

Emma laughs, mainly in disbelief at his statement, assuming its inaccuracy. “Whatever you say.”

 

There’s no venom to her words, only the fact that she’s amused and playing around with him. Her smile is an evident fact to justify that observation.

 

In the time he’s spent around with her, he’s learned more about her. He knows she grew up in the foster system (less than pleasant, he assures her). He doesn’t have Liam or his parents, so the feeling is somewhat mutual. At least he’s felt loved before, but her on the other hand, she hasn’t. And he wants to fix that, he wants to love her.

 

He’s already halfway there.

 

“Emma?”

 

“Huh?”

 

He inhales a deep breath, clenching his jaw once, building up the courage, “Can I take you out…sometime? Perhaps to dinner.”

 

“No.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m not looking for a relationship right now,” she reasons with a shrug.

 

Although disappointed at her rejection, he understands and takes his own step back with a nod and smile. “Well, I suppose I’ll just need to convince you on that someday,” he tells her. “Anyways, I’ll take a dozen of roses.”

 

.~.

 

Fans are…more than persistent, just like he is with winning Emma’s heart over.

 

Only a few days later when he’s panting for breaths, he offers her a rose. More or less to show that he’ll always be waiting, always be interested. Also to prove to her that he’s taking care of the flowers perfectly fine.

 

“Really? You bought these the other day,” she says, shaking her head. “But who am I to deny the gentleman?”

 

He grins – though this time he won’t stay around to make much of a conversation. “Thanks again for the cover. See you later, Swan.”

 

.~.

 

Killian begins to surprise her with little presents, with subtle gestures. News have died down on him for a bit, so that means he’ll be able to get his privacy for once in his life. He’s already given fans what they’ve wanted and they’ve stopped chasing him, but Emma _doesn’t_ know that, he hasn’t told her yet, doesn’t want to tell her.

 

The man doesn’t want to lose contact with her, despite being in such a small town as Storybrooke. He doesn’t want this to be a reason where he can’t enter the store occasionally to greet and wish her a good day. Killian likes her. A lot. It’s a fact by now that he does, that he’s unable to get enough of her, that his worse days can turn to his best, that his days spent can be with her while she works, that he gets to see more and more of Emma Swan beneath her sturdy armour.

 

On her birthday, he gets her a card and a red velvet cupcake, her _favourite_ as she’s told him. She looks so awestruck, him then realizing she mustn’t really celebrate it, given her history. He smiles and wishes, “Happy birthday, Emma.” It seems like she’s on the brink of crying, so he rounds the counter and wraps his arms around her.

 

She fits perfectly, really.

 

“Thank you,” she whispers.

 

He smiles, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. If one simple, heartfelt, genuine gesture like this means the world to her, he’s happy to give her more.

 

.~.

 

Worthless attempts or not, he continues to ask her out until the day she accepts.

 

And when she does, he’s caught off-guard, expecting her to deny him once again, only instead being faced with her finally caving into defeat with a small sigh and smile. Perhaps being relentless isn’t so bad after all, because altogether, he’s proud he’s made this progress with her.

 

“Really, love?”

 

“Not like you’re gonna stop asking.” She shrugs half-heartedly. “What could go wrong, anyways? You’ve proven yourself to be trustworthy. And annoying. _But_ trustworthy.”

 

The date is simple, it’s Storybrooke, there’s not many places you can take a beautiful woman out on a date. A few restaurants or bistros, a walk by the docks, perhaps to the beach that no one really visits, listening to the waters lapse consecutively, but that’s it. He does what he can, what he’s capable of. When news spreads of his date with Emma, he ignores it; he tells her it’ll pass in time.

 

He takes her home as a gentleman does, _finally_ kissing her sweet, soft lips – despite it being a goodnight kiss. It’s like she’s fanning the flames inside of him, causing him to rise and burn, a rush of contentment and bliss simply from her touches and words.

 

There’s lightness in the air.

 

He’s already in love.

 

.~.

 

“I need to get –“ she stops when he lifts her onto the work bench, “- these pieces done for you, Killian,” she finishes with a soft exhale, her eyes sliding closed.

 

He chuckles, stepping in between her legs, letting her wrap her legs around his torso. “Swan, your initiative is over the roof,” he protests. “You can get it finished _later_.”

 

“If I didn’t know any better, you’re trying to _distract_ me.”

 

“Are you complaining?” he asks, leaning up to brush his lips across hers.

 

“No.” She sighs softly against his mouth and he grins. “You said you wanted these done as soon as possible.”

 

Pity. Not a good enough reason to stop him, however. “You’re nearly done anyways, love,” he murmurs, lips trailing beyond her neck, his arms tight around her waist. “I believe, darling,” he breathes out, coming back to meet his lips with hers again, “you need a well-deserved break. Stop stressing yourself out.”

 

She laughs. “Right, Mr. Retired Singer,” she teases, her fingers at the back of his neck. “Like you’ve never been stressed before.”

 

Killian raises an eyebrow, pulling back slightly to look at her. “Swan, I’ll have you know I’m always _very_ relaxed. Perhaps you need something – or _someone_ – to help you relieve that stress. I’m willing to be that person.”

 

“Oh –“ she inhales a sharp breath when his lips hit her pulse point at the base of her throat, “- _stop_ it.”

 

He laughs, lifting her off the bench and setting her down back on the floor. “Apologies, my love.” With a grin, he backs up, admitting defeat for now. “Go ahead then, we can engage in our more _pleasurable_ activities once you’re complete with these pieces for me. As the _client_ , I’m admitting these don’t actually need to be done as soon as possible.”

 

“Idiot,” she grumbles.

 

“And yours,” he adds on smoothly, watching her roll her eyes and get back to delicately handling the flowers with her amazing dexterity.


	48. passing time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** au emma leaves her long time boyfriend(killian) bacause of being afraid of commitment, after a few years she comes back to find that he has moved on. - sassy-kebab
> 
> a/n: i’m not making it that heart-wrenching for the entire fic. i need a happy ending. woops.

“Killian -”

 

“No, Swan, I don’t understand.” He huffs a sigh, rubbing his face with one hand, the other on his hip. “You want to leave. You want to leave behind two years of our relationship because of _what_ , Emma?”

 

 _Commitment_. It’s because of commitment.

 

She feels so pathetic about it, like she just can’t let herself be happy. Maybe for days, for months, but then when it becomes too serious, something too promising only to think everything will be on a down spiral of events in the near future, she’s got the tendency to run away from things and not look back. To not regret the decision she’s made. She’d rather hurt herself than have someone else hurt her.

 

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, she’s trying to be sincere, she is being sincere, but this sudden decision to want to leave isn’t making it any easy on her either. To see the utter destruction behind his eyes because of her, it hurts her too. “You’ll never forgive me, I know.”

 

“Love,” he pleads, his voice cracking, “don’t go. We can figure this out.”

 

“Killian,” she begins shakily, “I c-can’t.”

 

There’s the clench of his jaw, the fists of his hands, the red on his face.

 

And apparently, it’s not enough to stop -

Emma wakes up in sweat, eyes snapping open at the dream. Or well, nightmare. It’s more scary and painful than anything, the memories still plaguing her. It’s been over three years since she’s talked or seen Killian; she wonders how he’s faring, how he’s probably moved on. She wouldn’t be surprised if he has, she’s nothing, a hollow shell of only sorrow and pain anyways.

 

She knows she won’t be getting sleep now that she’s woken up from the recurring nightmare again. Flipping the covers, she swings her feet out of bed and pads down the hallway into the kitchen, gathering the hot cocoa and cinnamon in the pantry, making herself the drink to settle her nerves. Emma can still hear her heartbeat pounding, the blood rushing to her ears. A little dizzy at most, but she’ll survive, that’s that.

 

Emma Swan’s life has been a cluttered mess ever since she left Killian Jones. She’s had the worse mornings, afternoons, and nights, had the worse encounters with strangers out in the bar, and hardly got sleep. Well right now at least she _can_ get some sleep, even though it may get disrupted by another memory of her previous and _last_ relationship.

 

So really, she hasn’t decided to move on.

 

She finds herself comparing other men to Killian Jones – she was daft back then, leaving him on such short notice. She’s nothing better than Neal Cassidy, actually. Excluding the putting a person in jail part, at least she didn’t do _that_. But she sure as hell broke Killian’s heart that night, giving him little reasons besides her fear of fucking _commitment_. God, he offers her the chance to work it out – together – yet throws it away and walks out the door.

 

And she’s looked back. Emma has looked back so many times, regretted her decision, yet she’s never made the decision to go back and possibly, just _possibly_ , rekindle any small flames. By this point, she’s sure she’ll never see him again.

 

Unless, fated decides to be a bitch and bring him into her life again. Which of course, she doubts highly of considering her life is just supposed to stay as bleak as it possibly can, that her heart will never be full of love, that she will never get to experience an unlimited amount of happiness. She’s let all those moments go the day she walked out the door and never talked to him again; what moments could possibly brighten up her life now?

 

The hot cocoa does little to soothe her from these thoughts or memories. She just climbs into bed again, staring up at the ceiling, knowing there’s three hours until she needs to get out of her shitty, simple apartment (barely scraping by) and get to work on chasing down bail jumpers. Emma hasn’t really changed, actually, still on the same job as she was three years ago.

 

(He could still be here in New York for all she knows.)

 

Early in the morning, she gets herself dressed, trudging out of her apartment and to her yellow bug, getting into it and driving toward the station.

 

There’s already an early lead she can trace, so the moment she signs into work she’s off again, wild and into the streets of Manhattan, New York. Like any other typical day normally, except she has a lead she can follow, which is always a nice thing.

 

She can admit that her mind is busy thinking about Killian at the moment with the nightmare and all, but she wants to catch this guy already – he’s bested her once, she’s not going to let that happen again,

 

But, _no_ , of course there’s some stupid blockade of paparazzi, getting cramped between these men and women because they’re trying to get pictures of from a distance. She _just_ wants to catch her perp for Christ’s sake.

 

It’s a head on collision she makes with a tall male, falling back and hitting her head first on the cold, hard pavement.

 

She swears she sees blue eyes before darkness slips in between her cracks and fills her up.

 

.~.

 

Everything is fuzzy when she first wakes, the beeping of whatever machines next to her, a blinding light nearly making her think she’s in heaven for a mere second. She doesn’t remember much, only that she got out of bed and headed to work. _Why_ is she in hospital?

 

“Ah, you’re awake.”

 

She practically freezes at that voice.

 

Blinking a couple of times, she moves her head to the side slightly, only to be hit with a rush of dizziness. “Killian?” she asks weakly, her throat like parchment.

 

“Aye.”

 

She feels, still, his hand cupping the back of her head while he brings a glass of water to her lips. She graciously swallows the liquid, soothing her dry throat. “Thank you,” she murmurs, refusing to open her eyes much because the light is killing her, giving her an even more massive headache.  “Can that light get any brighter?” she complains quietly, wishing she could shut it off.

 

He chuckles. “Fortunately, it can’t,” he says casually.

 

“Why are you here?” Emma suddenly asks, feeling a little bit guilty for being so rude.

 

“You ran into _me_ ,” he tells her. “Wouldn’t be honourable to leave you to your own devices – good form and all, as you know.”

 

“Right.” She sighs.

 

He’s clearly moved on. There’s nothing in his voice that suggest otherwise. He’s chill, smooth, the usual Killian Jones who would converse with anybody. He could be married (she doesn’t see a ring though), he could have a girlfriend, and he doesn’t _need_ to feel obligated about keeping her company. _I can take care of myself_ , she nearly says, realizing she may as well be thankful for his presence instead of being cold and mean. She’s already inflicted enough damage.

 

For the next couple of hours, she drifts in and out of consciousness thanks to Killian (on order from the doctor). She’s having difficult in terms of concentrating for too long as well; stupid concussion.

 

Killian stays completely professional, only here just to make sure she recovers fine. He smiles, a little softer than she remembers. He laughs and that sounds normal. Everything does. It turns out he has moved on without her. Not like she’d expected him not to. Not _everything_ revolves around her. It’s just that…she hasn’t moved on. Seeing him has only brought her more pain than anything else.

 

Her job barely covers her insurance – she supposes she’ll have to hit up her savings to pay the remainder.

 

She nearly forgets she’s in a hospital in the middle of the night, waking up in a rush from nothing more than another nightmare combined with some headache. Killian’s already asleep in one of those cushioned, wooden chairs beside her. She groans inwardly before settling back, trying to fall asleep. Thank the headache for forcing her to get sleep.

 

“She shouldn’t drive or work for approximately a week,” she hears when she’s slowly waking up in the morning. “Let the concussion slide. She needs her brain to rest, so that means a lot of things, actually; avoid alcohol or coffee, no strenuous physical _or_ mental activities, and have her come by…next Thursday for a checkup.”

 

She groans at all those steps of recovery, but she knows it’s for the better.

 

“Well, it appears she’s awake and heard most of that.” The doctor laughs. “Emma, I’ll need to do one more scan on your head to make sure nothing new developed overnight.”

 

.~.

 

He’s stuck having to take care of her.

 

She believes that’s enough mental _and_ emotional stress by this point, but the way he treats her, so simply and regularly without questions or words, she knows there’s nothing she should be worrying about. He’ll help with breakfast and lunch and maybe even dinner, he’ll drag her to bed if she’s less than competent after a mild spin occurs in her head after turning her head too fast, he’ll tell her stupid jokes.

 

With all reasons, it feels like she’s falling in love with him all over again. She _shouldn’t_ be falling in love with him all over again because after this, he’s going to leave and she’ll less than likely see him again.

 

They don’t speak of their relationship. She doesn’t mention a word.

 

Not until _now_.

 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her eyes closed.

 

“For?”

 

“Leaving,” she says, inhaling a deep breath, “those years ago. I’m sorry for leaving with such a stupid reason.”

 

“Swan,” he huffs, “I’ve long gotten past that. You were frightened, I understand. The past is the past, neither of us have the ability to change that.”

 

He sounds so… _unaffected_ by this all, almost like he’s lying. But Emma would know if he’s lying, and he’s _not_. That terrifies her a little bit, the fact that she must’ve caused him heartbreak considering the amount of times he’s called and left messages the first few weeks after their breakup, yet not caring for the world anymore. Safe to say she got a new number after all that.

 

“Still -”

 

“Emma,” he interjects, “go to sleep – that’s a demand.”

 

He doesn’t call her by _love_ or _darling_ or _sweetheart_ anymore. Just…just her name. “Okay,” she concedes in a small voice.

 

.~.

 

It’s like she’s falling and _falling_ , the further she’s falling the back, the further she’s distancing herself. But there’s someone reaching for her, a hand, _his_ hand, bringing her back into the light. Everything suddenly feels so much brighter around her –

 

She finds herself tangled in her sheets, red numbers staring right at her.

 

It’s early, 2:32 a.m.

 

Scrubbing a hand over her face, she flips onto her back slowly. She wants him tonight, the bed feeling so empty, her apartment so eerily silent, her life so black and white. She just wants him, though she knows she can’t have him.

 

He deserves better.

 

.~.

 

He has a key to her apartment, and despite its use is only for him to come and check on her for the next week, she feels like she’s too open to him again. He has power over her life, always has, and it’s only becoming more of reality the more seconds he spends with her. He’s literally _babysitting_ her the entire time. Not like she wants him to, but there’s really no other option for her to consider – he _is_ her only option, just like how he’s the only man she’ll ever really love with all her heart and soul.

 

They don’t make any physical contact, at least not often or unintended. Everything between them happens for a valid reason, but nothing romantic, nothing intimate, nothing like what they’ve shared in the past. And in a way, she aches to touch him, to curl to his side in bed, to press herself close to his chest and feel like she’s safe from the world. But there’s nothing there between them, the flame has died down, the match has ended in a draw.

 

It’s been long over.

 

Lights are off in the room, no one or no place to call her home. She wonders if she’d still feel like she did all those years ago with him, wonders if he’s found his home elsewhere – it doesn’t include her.

 

.~.

 

“Swan?”

 

She blinks. “Huh?”

 

“I asked if you’d like something to eat…are you alright?”

 

By this point, she’s just going to own up to her fear. She shakes her head lamely. “No, I’m not. I’m miserable,” she says softly, “have been…well, since…you know.” She sighs, realizing how she can’t even get any words out of her mouth, how she’s stumbling like an idiot. Then again, she’s never been a words type of person. “You seem perfectly content with your life, even after I walked out on you, but since that day, I’ve regretted it. It took me awhile, but I hate myself for leaving you like that, for being weak and thinking that the lost girl in me was finally gone – only to realize that it’s _never_ gone.

 

“And I just…I don’t know. You gave me everything that others couldn’t, and that scared me. I kept thinking I’d lose you eventually, so why not just get it over with myself? Now I realize…I – I was wrong, and pathetic, and… _fuck_ , I don’t even know how to put this into words.”

 

The edge of her eyes burn from the tears that she desperately wants to let stream, but she forces herself to not cry. Not cry in front of him, not let him think she’s _weak_. But her heart is his and she doesn’t know how to stop that from happening, she doesn’t want to be the clingy ex-girlfriend, but it’s just that seeing him and seeing how he’s moved on and stopped caring for her in _that_ way kills her.

 

He doesn’t deserve someone as broken as her.

 

Emma is just so _tired_.

 

A combination of lack of sleep and emotional pressure is literally exhausting her brain. This concussion isn’t going to just go away so easily.

 

She doesn’t even realize it when she falls forward until he catches her, his arms slipping to spots to pick her up and bring her to her bedroom without second questioning. In a way, she does feel lighter after confessing her envy to his own growth. Emma can hardly keep herself awake by the time he’s deposited her in bed, but he kisses her forehead and linger for longer than he needs to before he tells her to get rest.

 

And she _knows_ she won’t be getting rest, that’s one of the many reasons she’s so out of energy.

 

“Stay,” she quietly pleads, “ _please_.”

 

He does.

 

.~.

 

Emma Swan slept better than she has in _forever_.

 

Whether it’s because of Killian pressed to her back, one arm slung over her middle, his lips against the back of her neck, or because she’s just been so weary the last few days that her brain needed to shut down, she knows this is the one time she’s had such a satisfying slumber. (She _knows_ it’s the former, she’s always slept better with Killian and it’s like magic.)

 

He murmurs something incoherent before he tightens his arm, pulling her closer to him. She can’t help but smile, and perhaps that smile is the most genuine one she’s had in the last three years.

 

“Emma.”

 

“Killian,” she responds.

 

They both stay silent for a moment, before he breaks it.

 

“I never got over you,” he mumbles, his face coming over to peer over her shoulder. “The moment you left, I _knew_ I’d never quite move on without you – I’ve missed you. The past week has been living hell, making myself think that I still don’t love you, that I still don’t care for you. I lied to you…I lied to myself. I do care about you. I should have fought more for _us_.”

 

She tenses for only a second before she relaxes, looking up at his eyes. So _blue_ , just like she’s remembered them. And he’s being honest with her, she can see it in the way he looks at like. She _remembers_ that.

 

“I’m sorry, love,” he eventually says, a frown taking over his face. “It took me too bloody long to make a decision. I still want you, if you’ll have me.”

 

The decision isn’t hard, but _technically_ their roles are reversed here.

 

“You’re kidding me, right?” She scoffs, noticing his face fall. She corrects him before he freaks out. “It’s the other way around. I still want you only if you’ll have me,” she says.

 

“I’ll _always_ want you, Emma,” he promises, pressing a kiss to her cheek. It’s not an empty promise.

 

It’s hard for her to resist smiling now, and that’s a world record, smiling twice in the last five minutes all thanks to Killian. “Things aren’t gonna be the same, you know?” she whispers, turning so she faces up at the ceiling. “But I know that I won’t make the same mistake again.”

 

“Good,” he finds her hand and weaves their fingers together, “good.”


	49. save me (more than once)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 16\. you saved me from a fire AU
> 
> So, I recently just hit 1K followers on Tumblr, so I composed a list of my favourite prompts I could find/create and asked people to request from them. [Click here.](http://thejollypirate.tumblr.com/post/124604486421/as-promised-i-said-id-compose-a-list-of-prompts)

Emma Swan sleeps like the _dead_ when she needs to rest.

 

Therefore, even with the fire alarm screeching, she excuses it off as her ears ringing instead of there actually being a _fire_ in her apartment building. Let alone know the fire is on her _floor_ in the _hallway_ and well, she’s not prepared when she finally stumbles out of bed, smelling smoke seep through from beneath the door crack when she wants to leave.

 

“Fuck me,” she grumbles angrily, realizing her one way out the stairs is no longer a valid option.

 

The second way is out the window, but the fire escape is one of the few things the apartment landlord has _not_ fixed, therefore it’s probably not so safe trying to run out on that while it’s raining outside.

 

God, what _shit_ luck she has today.

 

She already hears the sound of sirens outside and frantic voices screaming and shouting, and she just wants to focus and get the hell out of her apartment. She glances out the window in her bedroom, seeing the firefighters running inside - proceeding with caution, still.

 

In one of these cases, she’s glad she’s got nothing important here. She’s not a sentimental person; not like she _has_ anything to care about. Everything in her apartment can be replaced, and damn, she should really be finding a way to stay safe and wait for someone to save her. Emma is the only one who usually saves herself, but clearly this is trying to prove her otherwise.

 

It takes a few minutes before the smoke is _really_ making itself into her apartment before she hears some shouting from a deep voice, a little distant, but still there anyways. So of course the only thing she does is cry for help as loud as she can, coughing in between words when she covers her mouth with the wet cloth she manages to get. She also bangs on her door a couple of times when she can’t scream anymore, knowing that she’s got no other choice.

 

And man, she’s _not_ going to die because she was too ignorant to get out of bed in the first place.

 

A few more seconds and she’s nearly panicking, the realization of her door being kicked down the only thing that sends relief through her. He’s decked in black and yellow, an oxygen tank and all. A flood of smoke rushes into her room at the opening of her door, guarding her eyes with one arm while the other hand still holds the cloth over her mouth and nose.

 

“Come on, lass,” he encourages, bending down in front of her. “We’ve got to go.”

 

He’s got an _accent_ , thick and muffled from his mask, but he’s here and saving her and she’s got to thank him later for doing his job at finding her.

 

Living on the eleventh floor is _very_ inconvenient in terms of having emergencies like these with a broken fire escape. God, she may as well move out anyways - she has enough saved.

 

She’s sure she’s inhaled just about enough to make her pass out, despite the use of her handy wet cloth.

 

It only gets worse when he’s lifted her out into the hallway toward the staircase, avoiding the flames and smoke still rising. “Stay with me, love,” he says over the noise, keeping her guarded carefully.

 

She’s a little dizzy now from what she’s inhaled, pressing her face into his chest. It’s hot and disgusting while he figures his way out. Emma coughs another multiple times, squeezing her eyes shut, deciding to count the second, do _anything_ to keep her mind off the fact that this probably-very-hot-firefighter (no pun intended) is saving her ass right now; that the most improbable thought of having to experience a fire in her apartment is actually reality now.

 

“Get her immediate attention, Locksley,” she hears from the man carrying her.

 

At least, that’s the last thing she hears.

 

.~.

 

She jolts awake, someone pressing her back down with a calming voice. “Keep it easy there, love.”

 

Glancing around, she catches sight of the man, blue eyes and dark, mussed up hair, a small smile on his lips. She recognizes him vaguely, believes he’s the one who saved her.

 

“How’re you feeling?”

 

“Like _shit_ ,” she grumbles, rubbing her eyes. “You saved me, right?”

 

The man nods. “Aye, I did.”

 

“Thank you...for saving me, of course,” she stutters.

 

“Killian Jones at your service,” he responds, “and it’s my job, Swan. What kind of firefighter would I be had I not saved you?”

 

Of course he knows her name, they obviously knew who they were looking to rescue for in the first place when they counted out missing residents.”One that would have gone down the ashes,” she quips, making references to fires; he simply shakes his head. She’s just _really_ out of it - wearing a hospital gown, sitting up in bed feeling not _too_ bad after all that. “So...why are you here, Killian?”

 

“Assuring your healthy recovery,” he says smoothly, leaning back in the wooden chair. “I was told to check up on you once the fire was put out.”

 

“Sounds more like you need to interrogate me.”

 

“Well, aren’t you a smart lass?”

 

“I _do_ work for the law,” she replies firmly, keeping her eyes on him. His eyes are far too blue, something she could have drowned in by now if it wasn’t for their less than too-pleasant conversation. “I question, I detect lies, you’re no exception to any of that.”

 

He chuckles, eyebrows moving up his forehead as he adjusts in his seat again, arms resting on the forearms, hands clasped together. “I’m not here to interrogate you, Emma. Really. I’m here on my own interests to check up on how you’re doing, is all. Can’t blame a man for wanting to make sure the beautiful lady he saved is alive and healthy, can you?”

 

She relaxes her shoulders a little bit, letting herself settle down into a more comfortable position. He’s not lying, _that_ much she knows. “I suppose not.”

 

“But if you’d like -” he tilts his head to the side slightly, “- I can take my leave.”

 

“Don’t.”

 

“Why the change of heart?”

 

“I never said you _needed_ to leave,” she retorts, biting back at him quickly. She actually _enjoys_ his company, enjoys this banter they’re having. She should be more thankful and kind to him, Killian Jones _saved_ her life, yet she’s acting like a complete ass. “Nor did I say I wanted you gone. I was just curious to why you wanted to check up on me - I mean, I assumed you’d have much more pressing issues to attend to.”

 

Killian’s lips split into a victorious smile - at least she _assumes_ it’s because he’s let him stay - shaking his head in denial of any other plans. “Free until tomorrow morning, love. You’re stuck with me until you decide you want the nurses to drag me out of your room.”

 

“I can do that myself, thank you very much,” she grumbles.

 

“Oh, I don’t doubt your abilities.” He smirks. “However, I’ve been told you’re not to be dismissed from bed   _or_ the hospital until tomorrow morning.”

 

Tomorrow morning? Why is this _such_ a drag for her? She groans, closing her eyes. “Really?”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“You’re not sorry,” Emma retaliates, turning her head and glaring at him.

 

His smile, devilish and knowing, is enough for her to know that he’s not sorry, that he’s just playing with her. Such an insufferable prick. Yet she can’t be mad at him for anything, he saved her damn life.

 

And now she has to deal with him.

 

.~.

 

“Your apartment is still being cleaned up,” he informs, leaning outside on the wall right when she exits the hospital room, all changed and ready to leave.

 

“Oh, _don’t_ tell me I can’t go back there.”

 

“You can’t - not yet, at least,” he says, an apologetic look on his face. And he’s not lying, she’s already grown used to if he’s lying or not. Used to his little nervous ticks; him fiddling with his fingers a little nervously or scratching behind his ear. “Sometime tomorrow, yes.”

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be off at work?”

 

“I _am_ on duty, love, right here, notifying you of your lack of shelter at the moment.”

 

“Your job today is to come tell me that I don’t have a place to sleep and eat, gee, thanks.” She sighs, and rubs her forehead, letting herself relax and not have the urge to yell at him. She just wants to go back and _sleep_ , to make up for the shitty night she’s had. “I’ll just find a hotel...or something.”

 

Apparently he’s not convinced of that, not the way one eyebrow is raised, lips pressed to a straight line. “You are not renting yourself one night at a pissy motel.”

 

“Motel?”

 

“You’re a bail bondsperson, I _know_ you don’t get paid so richly for your efforts, Swan - there’s no point in wasting your money. In the meantime, I’ve got a spare room at my apartment you can rest your lovely head at before you can return tomorrow free of charge.” He pulls a hand out from his pocket, a key wedged between his fingers. “I can drive you there and you can utilize this key for the day.”

 

Taking the key, she looks at him. “You trust me with this?”

 

He laughs, like he’s mocking her doubt in belief. “What’s there not to trust?”

 

And his voice is so full of sincerity, that he’s placing all of his trust in her to not jack his place up, she can’t find it in herself to deny his offer.

 

He’s right. What’s there _not_ to trust?

 

.~.

 

It turns out Killian Jones is far more talented than her.

 

(Damn it, _why_ does he seem so much more attractive after knowing he can cook up a good meal?)

 

There are many things she still doesn’t know about Killian, but it seems like she ends up knowing more and more about him while they sit on the couch, a good distance between each other (just some certain measures to be taken on her part), talking about nonsense while watching some stupid show on the TV that neither of them are really paying much attention to.

 

“You’ll be able to return tomorrow afternoon.”

 

Emma sighs in relief, throwing her head back. “Thank god. Was the damage bad?”

 

“Nothing that can’t be repaired. However, it’s probably best that you stay here for a while. The damage having to be fixed will take another while, and most of your floor has decided to stay with family or friends while the reparations are to be made.”

 

“Can I at least get some of my stuff?”

 

He nods once. “Aye, that’s not a problem. Would you like any help?”

 

“No,” she answers, “I’ll be fine.”

 

“As you wish.”

 

He’s not that bad. She considers him as a friend already.

 

.~.

 

She wakes hot and sweaty and _disgusting_ , shoving the covers off of her as she pads down toward the kitchen to pour herself a glass of cold water.

 

Emma remembers, remembers the heat and the bright colours accompanied by dark, swirling smoke. A shiver runs down her spine as she downs the glass, bracing her hands on the counter as she closes her eyes, attempting to calm herself down. The fire, despite seeing not too much of it, is still able to haunt her at night, the humid and horrible feeling sticking to her skin the moment she breaks from the nightmare.

 

No one saves her in her nightmares, no Killian Jones or anyone to the rescue. No, she dies a _painful_ death.

 

She sighs a shaky breath, rinsing out the glass and nearly dropping it when Killian pops up in his plaid boxers and t-shirt, eyes squinting in the faint moonlight filtering in through the apartment windows.

 

“Emma?”

 

“Yeah, it’s me,” she responds quietly, setting the glass aside to dry.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“Yes,” she lies, walking past him.

 

He pulls her back then, his hand tight around her wrist, but not tight enough to hurt her. “You’re all sweaty,” he murmurs, his other hand coming up to brush away her hair, fingers making contact with her clammy skin. “You had a nightmare.”

 

“It’s nothing, Killian, go back to bed,” she murmurs, trying to keep her voice stable. It’s not everyday you wake up from a nightmare about _burning to death_ , of course it’s normal for her voice to be slightly shaky while she’s recovering from that. “I promise, I’m fine.”

 

He sighs before kissing her forehead, her nearly freezing at his affectionate gesture. “As you wish.”

 

She books her way out of the kitchen as fast she humanly can without seeming suspicious.

 

.~.

 

The nightmares, they keep coming back to ruin her sleep. This makes her faulty and exhausted all the time during her work, trying to chase down these assholes who skipped bail. Most of the time all she manages to do when she returns back to Killian’s apartment is a quick shower, a snack, and dropping onto the bed. He’s always there, however, checking in on her and asking if she wants anything from the supermarket or drugstore. Her answer is always the same.

 

He doesn’t kiss her forehead like that one time. His smiles and voice are the same though.

 

Must’ve been a one-time thing, not that she’s complaining.

 

(Okay, _maybe_. Maybe she liked that, only that she freaked out a bit when she returned back to the bedroom, having to think and settle her nerves.)

 

Eventually the terrors of night fade. But, the moment she moves back into her apartment after an entire week of spending her days and nights at Killian’s, they return.

 

It’s dumb, maybe even a little pathetic, when she’s knocking on his door in the middle of the night, only in her t-shirt and sweats. But she’s fucking _terrified_ of sleeping back there (she’s made the decision to look into moving elsewhere already), so she’s come to find comfort in staying in Killian’s spare room. But she’d rather knock than enter with the key she still has, in case he assumes someone is breaking into his apartment.

 

He looks confused, one eye open and the other still closed, a hand running through his hair when he opens the door.

 

“Swan?”

 

“Can I stay in your spare room?” she asks, too quietly, her vulnerability showing through which she _hates_.

 

He swallows, sidestepping and allowing her inside. “Of course.”

 

“I just - the nightmares are back,” she blurts out, rubbing her eyes. “Going back there, I can’t help but remember what happened, what _could_ have happened if you didn’t save me. And I know I’ve been distant and avoiding that topic - I’m sorry about that, by the way - because you’ve been nothing but a good friend.”

 

In this case, she almost expects him to shoot some stupid words back at her like _I told you so_ , but he doesn’t. He’s awfully silent as he wraps an arm around her shoulders and guides her toward the spare bedroom.

 

In the morning, she remembers she’s not in her bed back at the apartment.

 

“No nightmares?” he asks, his mouth pressed against the back of her neck, palm pressed against her stomach.

 

“No nightmares.”

 

For once, she lets him care for her ever since he saved her ass from a fire.

 

(He asks her to move in with him later that night. She knows she won’t need to search for any other apartments, she knows where she belongs.)

 


	50. from a page to a chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 35\. you loved books and we ended up making out in the back of school’s library AU.
> 
> need I say more? I mean they're gonna be all kissy kissy in the back of a school library.

It’s not her fault for noticing him in the back of the school library during lunches or after school. He’s almost usually ( _always_ ) engrossed in a book, a new one or not, he’s always got a new novel sitting in front of him, his blue eyes scanning the words in a swift manner.

 

She knows who he is; he is Killian Jones, Captain of the Storybrooke High swim team, but also a very avid reader and intelligent with his own cunning wits.

 

She’d be very much lying if she says she doesn’t have a crush on him.

 

They’ve talked before, they’re friends.

 

They text and they chat during lunch, they talk in class if they’re sitting next to each other or if they get paired up to do something. It’s funny though, out of _all_ the other girls in class, he always chooses her despite being the orphaned kid. He makes her feel safe, he makes her feel like she belongs in this school, that she’s not some _loner_ , and she appreciates that, she does notice him and his kind attempts and befriending her and staying loyal.

 

The library is always too silent, no one ever really being in there besides Killian and the librarian, French Belle, but even then she’s in her little room reading as well because she’s aware no one would ever cause trouble in the library.

 

He catches her eyes sometimes, and she blushes slightly most of the time (not that he can see it from a distance). They don’t exchange words in the library most of the time, only smiling at each other and waving before she runs off to a stall in the girls washroom, leaning her head against the metal door and sighing to herself.

 

She’s got _more_ than just some little crush.

 

It takes awhile for her to actually confront him in the library, peeking over at the book he’s busy reading before he raises his eyes and sets his bookmark in, giving her all his attention. And that’s sweet - he doesn’t keep reading and talk to her simultaneously, he _stops_ for her.

 

“Hello, Swan,” he greets with a smile. “Finally come to talk?”

 

“We already _do_ talk,” she retorts, “just that you seem so immersed in these books that you read, I never want to interrupt.” She drags a seat out and sits down next to him.

 

It’s so damn quiet, it feels a little weird. They’re usually surrounded by so many more people, but it’s after school, no one is going to be in the library besides Miss French and Killian anyways.

 

“I always revel in your company when you offer it.” He grins, leaning back in his seat a little. “But what brings you to finally talk today?”

 

“Oh, uh...nothing. Nothing in particular at least.” She shrugs, licking her lips and casting her eyes over his shoulders. Emma brings her eyes back to his, a little inquiring feeling lingering around, curiosity and skepticism. “IthinkIlikeyou.”

 

One eyebrow raises up, a trademark quirk of his, before he leans forward. “Pardon me, love?”

 

It’s like he knows, he _wants_ her to repeat that without letting the word rush and stumble out of her mouth like a run-on sentence. “I think I like you,” she repeats a little bit more slowly, biting her lower lip after finally confessing her stupid crush. And for a moment, she thinks he’s going to laugh at her and say _of course you do, half the girls in the school do!_ but he doesn’t, he’s still smiling.

 

Her eyes flicker to his lips and she notices his drop down to hers too, and then they’re kissing, kissing in the back of the school library and she does _not_ regret a single thing.

 

It’s far too sloppy at first, the positions of their chairs getting in the way. But he helps lift her up onto the desk, his hands firm at her first while he’s got his head tilting up, his lips insistently moving against hers hungrily, something she’s never expected of him. But he’s Killian Jones, popular boy and Captain of the damn swim team, athletic and smart and _everything_ any teenage girl craves. Yet he’s kissing her with such passion, fervor that is exchanged between the both of them.

 

“Emma,” he breathes against her lips, the both of them trying to catch their breath.

 

She’s nervous, scared of where this is going because _god damn it_ she’s eighteen and it’s taken her two years of trying to build up the nerve to admit her feelings, yet she’s all nervous and giddy at the same time.

 

She may never see him again once they graduate this year, but she wants to make the most of it. Now or never.

 

“I know I like you,” she murmurs, correcting her previous statement. She opens her eyes to see his bright grin, only that she’s stopped before she can speak again, his lips capturing hers quickly, his hands sliding up and around her back.

 

She moans quietly, the feeling of him pressed against her, that he feels the _same_ , that the desire between them has always been reciprocated on both ends. It’s a relief for her, really. But she can’t concentrate much on her mental emotions, not as much as the current burning sensation rushes through her blood, a sense of _need_ coiling around in her stomach.

 

One thing’s for sure, she’s not going to have sex with him in the school library. Making out is fine, but _sex in the library_ is not a line she’s willing to cross, no matter how wild her heart and mind is at her age.

 

“I like you, too,” he mutters when he pulls back for a breath, his hands sliding up to cup her cheeks. “I’ve liked you for a bloody long time, Swan.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Aye,” he confirms, lowering her down from the table.

 

“I thought you didn’t.”

 

“I thought _you_ didn’t.”

 

They both laugh, pressing their foreheads together. “I didn’t know how to tell or show you,” she confesses, shrugging a little. “I thought you’d laugh at me and compare me to all the other girls.”

 

“Love, let’s get one thing straight. I’ve liked no one but you. No one has interested me besides you.” He picks up the book that’s dropped onto the carpeted floor, brushing it off and setting it back on the table behind them. “But I didn’t know how to tell you because I thought you’d run off. I thought me being around you so often, choosing you for projects and such, would have been obvious enough. You’re oblivious to a man’s advancements, sometimes.”

 

“It’s not that I never _noticed_ , it’s that I never realized that was the message behind them. And you’re _not_ a man.”

 

He chuckles, the sound so familiar to her from so many other times they’ve spent together as _friends_. “I’m getting there.”

 

.~.

 

It’s safe to say they spend most of their time in the back of the library making out than reading or completing homework.

 

Miss French catches them once, a shy smile on her lips, though full of teasing. “I won’t tell anyone.”

 

She glances at Killian and he looks back at her, his lips trembling into a smile before they burst into laughter that has no purpose in being suppressed any further. Belle slips off and Killian soon has his arm wrapped around Emma’s waist, pressing a kiss to the side of her head while her shoulders still move up and down from laughter.

 

“Well that went well.”

 

“You sure about that, Swan?” he asks. “Perhaps I’ve ought to knock you on the side of the head with my book - activate the proper use of your brain.”

 

“Shut up,” she grumbles, rolling around to bury her face in his chest, his other arm wrapping around her in an embrace. “I don’t need to get hit with a book, my brain is functioning perfectly fine.”

 

He hums, rocking them back and forth before he steps back once, dipping down and kissing her again, affectionate and loving, and _damn_ she’s in love. It’s always different yet the same, the feeling of his lips slanting against hers to deepen, the feeling of his tongue tracing her bottom lip seeking entrance. But the emotions, they’re the different ones. Sometimes it’s desperation, sometimes hunger; other time it’s passion, or just simply sweet and short. It differs every time.

 

But one thing’s for sure, their feelings don’t waver, but they grow. It’s like every day it’s a start of a new page, every month a start of a new chapter.

 

“I love you,” he whispers during their last day in the school library.

 

No one has really ever said those words to her, of course she takes it lightly when he tells her so - despite the genuine tone of his voice. “As much as you love your books, right?”

 

He looks at her like she’s crazy, shaking his head and pressing a feather light kiss to her lips.

 

“ _More_ than books.”

 


	51. a debt and a ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 41\. i was trying to read in the park and your stray football fucking knocked me unconscious

The weather is gorgeous outside; a warm day with a cool breeze, sun peeking through some clouds (not _too_ sunny, which is always the best), and it’s not humid. (And her day off from work.) So logically, she grabs some book off her shelf and decides to head to the nearby park and _read_.

 

There’s not a lot of people, even under this weather. She does notice some guys throwing a football back and forth, some couples enjoying a walk, but that’s about it. In her case, she’s glad about that. Settling at a spot beneath a tree, she opens up the book (apparently she grabbed a new one she hasn’t touched), and begins to read.

 

It’s probably been a solid 20 minutes of reading before someone yells, “Heads up!”

 

The last thing she sees when she glances up from her book is that damn fucking _football_ flying in her direction before it hits her straight in the face.

 

The last thing she hears is a guy shouting at her, but no, she hardly hears that actually, the sound muffled and her sight a bit blurry before she realizes her eyelids are heavy -

 

_Stupid fucking football._

 

.~.

 

Safe to say her afternoon reading session in the park is ruined when she wakes up in the hospital. She groans, squeezing her eyes tightly. She’s beyond pissed of course.

 

“Sorry,” she hears.

 

Glancing to her right, where the voice is coming from, is a guy, probably one that was playing with the football with his friends. His eyes are blue, he’s got a few days scruff, messy dark hair as if he’s been running his hand through it multiple times in distress.

 

“Apologies for the accident, none of us meant harm with the ball,” he says, a coy smile on his face. “Are you feeling better?”

 

“Uh - oh, yes,” she stutters, noticing his voice with an _accent_ , suddenly feeling like she can’t even be angry or frustrated with him. (Perhaps with his group of friends, but he’s the one who's come to apologize on behalf of the others.) “It’s fine, really, accidents happen.”

 

He chuckles, his finger scratching behind his ear. “I’d say this was an unfortunate one.”

 

Shrugging aimlessly, she sits up a little bit.

 

“The others are outside, they want to apologize, too.”

 

She softens at that admission, now being hyper aware of everyone and how considerate they’re being. “Oh, it’s really no bother.”

 

“They want to. I insist, love.”

 

Maybe it’s the way he says _love_ like he means it, but then again he probably says that to every girl, not that she cares.

 

(She does.)

 

.~.

 

She knows all of their names by now.

 

Will Scarlet. Robin Locksley. Graham Humbert. Killian Jones.

 

Killian, especially, she remembers. She remembers the sound of his voice, remembers his laugh and his smile, remembers how gentle he handles her, how he decides to stay and hear the news of her injury. It’s sweet, something no one’s ever done for her. “I’m _always_ a gentleman,” he says once, turning around and letting her change.

 

Her nose is still intact, brain still fully functioning, but there’s a bruise on her forehead now with some gauze covering it. (She looks ridiculous.)

 

“I recovered your book.” He hands the novel to her. “Retrieved it up before we brought you here, left it in my car.”

 

“Thanks,” she murmurs.

 

It’s not the first time they’ve made physical contact, but every time they do, she feels this shiver run through her. “No problem, love,” he says, grinning at her.

 

And he drives her home, too, well _home_ , more of a place to live instead of feeling like she belongs or anything. She’s just still surprised she’s heading back without some concussion that’ll threaten the equilibrium in her mind. But through all these small moments they share, she always has fun with him, _despite_ the fact she’s gotten hit in the head with a stupid football.

 

(God, that’s a first.)

 

When she returns to work, David asks what happened.

 

He _laughs_ at her, well at least he attempts to suppress his laughter.

 

“This guy, Killian, and his friends accidentally hit me with a football at the park.”

 

“Killian? I think Ruby knows him - Victor is friends with them.”

 

“Oh _that’s_ fantastic, I bet she knows all about it then,” Emma grumbles, dropping down at her desk, being assigned to the boring task of paperwork since she’s still been told to take caution on physical exertion. “Do they talk a lot?”

 

“Well, Ruby goes to this bar...and from what I know, Killian owns it.”

 

“He owns a _bar_?” she asks to herself, only to be more impressed. Owning his own business must be difficult, even if it’s a bar. “Wow,” she huffs, shaking her head as she sorts papers out on her desk.

 

.~.

 

“Swan! Fancy seeing you here.”

 

She shrugs, crossing her arms and leaning her elbows forward on the counter. “Yeah, well...I’m here.”

 

Killian looks _good_ in his black polo shirt.

 

“How’re you feeling?” he asks, referencing the injury while he wipes out a dirty glass with a towel, smiling at her.

 

“Much better - healing up, of course.”

 

“Would you like a drink?”

 

“I was told to stay away from alcohol.” She chuckles, shaking her head. “Just some water? And your company when you’re not busy, I guess. I’ve got nothing better to do and I was told you own a bar, so...yeah, I decided to drop by.”

 

He raises a brow and nods, fishing a glass and a pitcher of cold water, pouring it into the empty glass and sliding it toward her. “How considerate of you, love.”

 

“You took me to the hospital, I come for a visit. Consider my debt paid.”

 

“A debt? I don’t -”

 

“Oh, just shut up and take my money, Jones,” she interrupts, dropping a five dollar bill on the counter. “Keep the change.”

 

“- recall having you owe me a debt, _however_ , I appreciate your graciousness.” He takes the five dollars without further questioning.

 

.~.

 

She’s reading her book again, the same one she was originally reading the day she got hit by a football. Ah, the vivid memories of pain.

 

“Darling, I think you should _move_ in case the same incident repeats itself.”

 

Sighing, she rolling her eyes and gets up, clamping her book shut and trudging over to the vacant bench. “I swear to fucking god if I’m getting hit with that damn football _again_ …” she trails off, shaking her head before plopping down on the bench, seeing Killian shoot her a smirk, football in hand, before he throws it toward Graham.

 

Though the football doesn’t hit her in the face or the head again, she does catch it rolling in it’s messy pattern toward her feet.

 

“Throw it back, would you, love?”

 

She’s only been dating him for three weeks (a _good_ three weeks), but he’s ignorant and sappy and the so far the best boyfriend she’s had. Setting her novel down, she stands up and picks the ball up, setting her fingers in the right spots before chucking it back toward him.

 

She _nearly_ hits him with it, his swift reflexes causing him to dodge.

 

She’s always had good aim, and she was technically _decent_ in football back in high school gym classes, always hitting that spiral perfectly. It’s good to know that she can still manage at that point. And it’s not like she was intentionally aiming for his head anyways.

 

“You never told me you could play,” he brings up later, holding a cup of her favourite hot cocoa with cinnamon while she’s sprawled across the couch, engrossed in her book because she _wants_ to finish this damn thing.

 

“Didn’t think it’d be important.” She yawns and sits up, throwing the book (carefully) on the coffee table in front of her, then taking the mug from his outstretched arm. “Besides, after nearly experiencing what I experienced, you know now.”

 

“ _Bloody hell_ ,” he whispers when he sits down next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “My beautiful, talented Swan.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these oneshots are gonna be pumped out quickly b/c i'm trying to get them all done as fast as i can, but also make sure the quality is great. comments are always welcome!


	52. five times emma swan falls (or nearly falls)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 42\. you slipped on a patch of ice and i happened to be walking behind you and you fell into my arms wow you’re really attractive AU.
> 
> i've got so many prompts to complete this is crazy, lol.

 She’s blushing madly.

 

It all starts on a Friday night while she’s hurriedly rushing down the sidewalk, a snowstorm being to brew into the town. Of course, that’s when she chooses she needs to get the hell out of this weather by getting back to her apartment which is conveniently around the corner, _but_ , it appears that faith or whatever other shit, has decided she’s not gonna go so easily.

 

But technically, Emma Swan isn’t complaining about the view from here.

 

It’s something quick that happens, too fast for her to fix her footing before she’s slipped over some black ice.

 

And then that’s how she _promptly_ meets Killian Jones, the bluest eyes, the hottest scruff, and the sexiest fucking accent of all.

 

(Okay, perhaps an exaggeration, but point and case, he’s attractive.)

 

“Woah.”

 

She blinks a couple of times up at him, lips parted dumbly as the snow begins to fall. His arms are pulling her up from behind. “Uh, sorry,” she quickly apologizes for no reason. “I mean, thank you, for uhm, catching me.”

 

“Not a problem, lass.”

 

She smiles, standing up and gathering herself together again. Contain _some_ sort of dignity after that. He walks in the same direction at her and they end up making small talk - and for some reason, it turns out he lives in the _same_ apartment as her, on the _same_ floor, yet she’s never seen him in his life.

 

And it’s not the first time she slips. The second time one of her shoelaces on the boots come loose and she steps on it with her opposite foot, nearly tripping. Killian’s hands are at her elbows pulling her back into his chest, _really_ close, and she gets to see his damn defined jaw line and everything, all while he makes fun of her for her clumsiness.

 

“I promise I’m not this prone to falling,” she tells him, all blush on her cheeks and from the cold outside. “I’m just not having a good day.”

 

He laughs, pulling his hoodie off. “Aye.”

 

And there’s his hair, dark and messy from the hood, but _damn_ , he’s even more attractive now. Sue her - she wants to see what’s beneath all these layers of clothes from the cold weather. “Would you like some hot cocoa? You know...for catching me.”

 

“Sounds swell,” he agrees, following her.

 

That’s how they end up on the couch in front of the TV, marathoning through Game of Thrones, both of them _civilly_ discussing the plot of the show and their own personal thoughts on characters and what happens to them. They have plenty of differing opinions, not that she wants to argue with him - as said, civilly - but there’s something about Killian that goes between infuriating but kind. It’s sort of hard for her to handle both at the same time, but is appears that he knows how to calm her down before she can even begin trying to validate her own opinion.

 

At some point when it’s dark outside but the snowstorm is still brewing, she drifts to sleep, not even aware she’s falling asleep on _his_ shoulder, the TV still running the show from Netflix.

 

But he’s warm, he’s warm like when he first caught her, even the second time, and he feels safe, like she can trust him at the moment. Besides, it’s not like he lives across the town or anything, they live a couple of steps away from each other. (And the fact that the town is so small and she’s never seen him is odd.) Which in some cases, could make this worse if she decides to run away instead of grow this relationship she now has with him. That makes avoiding a hell of a lot more difficult, but she thinks she won’t run.

 

Not from him.

 

She _must_ be having a bad streak with herself or something because when she wakes up, rubbing her eyes to stand up, she trips on a blanket that’d been draped over her (her fault with tripping, of course), her face nearly planting into the floor if she didn’t extend her hands out in time to stop her fall.

 

“Bloody hell, Swan, what is with you and _falling_?” he asks when he wakes up, helping her up. “Three times in two days, that sounds like a record if you’re right on the fact that you usually don’t fall like this.”

 

“I swear I’m _not_ , it’s bad luck or something,” she reasons, brushing her hair away from her face.

 

“Aye, well I’m not really convinced of that anymore. It seems like you just want me to catch you.”

 

“Oh come _on_ ,” she snaps, pinching the bridge of her nose, “I can pick myself up just fine.”

 

“You certainly didn’t deny it,” he teases, a devilish smirk growing on his face. Just about she’s going to hit him, he backs up, bringing his hands up. “Sorry, love, didn’t mean to _anger_ you. I’ll be sure to make sure not to ever raise your temper again.”

 

She huffs a breath, rolling her eyes. “You better,” she mutters.

 

.~.

 

The winds aren’t too crazy outside, but the temperatures are cold and there’s ice everywhere, at least, according to the weather channel.

 

Killian’s gone back to his apartment after they have breakfast together (yes, a little domestic, but nothing more than _friends_ ).

 

At least, that we she keeps telling herself.

 

_You tell yourself that enough times, you’ll believe it, right?_

 

She sighs, dressing herself up for the weather outside. She’s had this plan with Ruby to meet up with her at Granny’s for awhile, and despite the not-so-pleasant weather outside, she’d much rather not ditch on her friend just because of that. And Granny’s is just around the block, so it’s not a far walk. The only thing she is concerned about is slipping against and humiliating herself.

 

But thank god Storybrooke is a quaint town and everything is basically walking distance, that there’s never many people out on the sidewalks, especially during this weather that’s been blown into Maine.

 

Everything is great, up until the moment she spills the hot coffee all over herself when she’s walking back, after losing her balance on the ice (no, not fall, just lost of balance), grumbling to herself, she throws the paper cup into the nearest garbage she finds and stomps back up to her apartment, soaked in caffeine. It calls for a laundry trip.

 

And well, her luck is no better when she’s down there and runs into Killian who’s loading clothes into his laundry basket.

 

 _God damn it_.

 

“Ah, hello, love.”

 

“Hey,” she forces herself to say after her shitty day’s events, throwing clothes into the laundry machine.

 

“You seem rather bothered.”

 

“Spilled coffee on myself.”

 

He hums quietly. “Did you slip?” he eventually asks, holding his filled laundry basket next to his hip, a raised eyebrow out of curiosity.

 

“No,” she responds.

 

“Really?”

 

“I lost balance, but I didn’t slip and fall,” she elaborates, speaking the truth anyways. She shuts the lid of the washing machine, noticing that the settings are one just as she needs them, pushing forward to start the process. “I think I’m just going to camp out at the station tonight and deal with all the phone calls complaining about the weather and it’s aftermath. At least _then_ I don’t think I’ll be tripping or slipping on anything.”

 

“Best not to jinx yourself, lass,” he says rather suspiciously.

 

Skeptical as she is, she doesn’t care. He’s somewhat brightened up her day a little.

 

.~.

 

It turns out the station door is practically frozen, and when she _does_ yank the thing open, she falls back on her ass, quickly scrambling up and throwing herself inside because she’s literally freezing with this negative temperature despite wearing a leather jacket and so many more layers beneath it.

 

It’s like ever since she’s met Killian Jones, she’s been having the worst luck on this planet.

 

David is out on patrol, according to a phone call she gets, but it turns out that overnight, she doesn’t even want to _leave_ , falling asleep on the couch next to the window of the station, blinds shut.

 

She wakes up abruptly the next morning after someone shaking her shoulder, supposedly David, until she notices it’s the blue eye, scruff with a bit of ginger colour, and his stupid raised eyebrow. He hands her a cup of coffee to-go from Granny’s and she thanks him, then asking him why he’s here.

 

“Dave said you weren’t answering your phone this morning, and when you weren’t answering your door, I figured you’d probably be here.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Now she has a nasty bit of soreness in her neck as she stretches out.

 

On the walk back to the apartment (with Killian), she slips _again_ , Killian reaching out for her and pulling her back up just in time before she hits the ground. God she is _so_ tired of the damn ice and snow, this has probably been the worst winter she’s had in her life.

 

“For Christ’s sake,” she mutters, pressing her head back into the side of his chest. “That’s five times. Four if you don’t count losing balance.”

 

He laughs, turning her around, hands on her waist. “Swan, perhaps we’re to get you better boots.”

 

And then he kisses her, he leans forward and _kisses her on the lips_ , mouth cool but tasting like the coffee he had earlier. The thing is, she doesn’t push him away, she kisses back and her hands are pressed against his chest, his arms firmly supporting her from her knees buckling because this kiss would’ve made her buckle by now if it wasn’t for him.

 

It turns out he’s the only one who can catch her properly.

 

At least she can slip and not take the fall, saving herself the embarrassment when she’s around him.

 


	53. height and fright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 31\. “my friends dared me to go on this rollercoaster but now that we’re at the top it looks way too scary and hellO hot person sitting next to me (careful i might puke)” AU.
> 
> a/n: couldn’t make killian react quite like “hellO hot person” but it’s just hella cute alright, this is just pure fluff and adorable stuff that most people want…i think. (and i did a little bit more than what the prompt is… woops.)

There are... _extents_ of what he can handle, and roller coasters aren’t one of those things he can handle. Ships? Oh, _yes_ , definitely, but when it comes to heights and speed merged together with the little possibility of being flung out from the seats, Killian loses his mind.

 

But he’s been dared by Robin and Will, and he’s just not having it when he’s buckled into his seat. At first, it’s fine, but the anticipation by the time they’ve reached the top...he’s not so okay.

 

He glances over at the person sitting next to him, blonde and beautiful, a small smile on her face. The second he takes his eyes off of her and glances down at the height they’re at, he realizes he’s in for a definite wild ride. “Bloody hell,” he curses to himself, sighing and rubbing his face. Why in the world they move so slow, he’ll never know.

 

“You seem like you’ve been forced on here.”

 

He turns his head to the side to look her in the eyes, stunning green eyes in a returning gaze. (Really, he’s in awe she’s even talking to him.) “Aye, my mates dared me to go on this thing.”

 

“And now you’re worrying,” she says with a small laugh. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

 

“Ah, right, _speed_ ,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “I’d much rather hope for a slow ride.”

 

“I hope you realize the more you worry the worse you’ll feel the entire ri -”

 

She gets cut off from them dropping down the speed and _holy lord_ he’s not okay, and on instinct, he’s supposed to scream and enjoy his time, but no, his mouth refused to open up while everyone else is screaming, hands gripped tightly on the safety pole in front of him.

 

He’s going to _kill_ his friends for this, but the beneficial thing is the lovely lass sitting beside him who seems to be enjoying her time, despite being seated next to someone like him who’s bloody terrified of roller coasters.

 

The ride feels like _forever_ , he feels horrible nauseous by this point and she’s told her, over the yelling of others riders, and she nodded, but she didn’t seem to be scared of his possible chance at puking all over her.

 

This one time, he’s glad he didn’t eat anything before getting on this ride -

 

_Why is it taking such a bloody long time?_

 

Squeezing his eyes shut, he’s just going to focus and dream that it’s a fast car ride with the windows open, except for the fact of spinning and flipping in many turns - that can be excused as nothing else _but_ a roller coaster itself. And suddenly, he feels something on top of his hand, realizing it’s _her_ hand on top of his, giving it a squeeze and a reassuring smile.

 

He focuses on her face. Her eyes, her lips, her cheeks, _everything_ her. “It’s almost over,” she suddenly says, her head tilting forward toward his right side, “we’re slowing down.”

 

Glancing down, he lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank you for that, love.”

 

“Emma Swan,” she introduces.

 

He bobs his head once, glad his nauseous feeling is subsiding. Also, he knows her name. “Killian Jones.”

 

“Wasn’t too bad was it?”

 

“Was certainly quite the ride,” he chokes out before coughing, shortly clearing his throat of whatever got caught there in the first place. “Never doing that again, nor do I think I’ll ever fall for a blasted dare like that again.” He sighs as the restraints are lifted, nearly tripping before gaining his balance and getting off the roller coaster.

 

They talk a little more as they exit the property of that roller coaster, both of them caught up in this conversation that he forgets his friends are _right there_ waiting for him with smug smiles on their faces. Except, when he emerges with a gorgeous woman with a wonderful personality (of what he’s learned of her so far), they both frown a little bit before they flash up smiles and he introduces each of them to each other. At least he’s made a new friend.

 

Shortly after, a couple walks in and talks to Emma before she’s introducing her friends, David and Mary Margaret Nolan, and then Ruby Lucas who pops by with a cone of pink cotton candy.

 

He tries not to bring any attention to the fact he nearly wanted to vomit when they came from the very top from the roller coaster. At some point, they end up as an entire group walking around, and at another point, his hand ends up snatching hers (subtly, at least), until their fingers are intertwined through each other. Killian can’t help but smile down at her when they exchange looks after their friends are arguing over something stupid about which ride to go on next.

 

“I’d prefer not to go on anymore roller coasters today, love,” he whispers, his thumb rubbing over her hand in a soothing manner.

 

“Me too.” She yawns. “I’m pretty tired of them.”

 

Chuckling, he presses a kiss to the side of her head. “Sounds like you’re tired of everything.”

 

It’s odd though, within a few hours he’s already fallen for her. Perhaps it’s how she helped assure him and made small talk with her on the roller coaster, or even because they’ve just been the two leftovers of their group of friends, only reveling in each other’s company without any other choice.

 

(Not that he _cares_ or thinks it matters, he likes her.)

 

But she seems quite into it as well, reciprocating the same feelings. And dear god is he glad because he’s just going to ask and confirm if they’re a thing.

 

“Yeah, I am, been here most of the day.”

 

“Would you like me to drive you home?”

 

“No, no, I don’t want to ditch them,” she mumbles, head leaning on his shoulder.

 

“Alright,” he sighs, giving her hand a squeeze. “Whenever you want to leave, just tell me.”

 

They do end up discussing what they _are_.

 

“Perhaps I can take you out for dinner?” he inquires. “Another time of course, you’re already exhausted tonight.”

 

“I’d like that.”

 

.~.

 

He finishes up the story then, ruffling his son’s hair.

 

“I cannot believe you and Mum met like that,” Liam huffs, shaking his head.

 

Although eleven and growing up ridiculously fast, there’s nothing that takes away his love for his son. “Not the ideal situation, but there’s nothing wrong with it, lad.” The shuffle a little bit in the line, roller coaster lines have _always_ been extremely long and full of waiting.

 

“Are you still scared of roller coasters?”

 

“Not sure, Liam, I haven’t been on one for over a decade.”

 

“Are you coming with me on this one?” Liam asks, his arms crossed over his chest.

 

Killian raises a brow and shakes his head. “Most definitely not - I’d much rather protect my guts instead and take precaution. I’m just standing in line with you because we had unpleasant experiences with this in the past when we left you alone.”

 

His son huffs an annoyed breath. “Dad, that was when I was like nine!”

 

“And you’re _eleven_ now, that’s two years older. Not a large difference.”

 

He continues to talk to his son until he’s seated in the roller coaster, taking his steps back and finding Emma with their five year old daughter, wrapping his arm around Emma’s waist.

 

“Think he’ll survive?” she asks, leaning into his side.

 

“He’s a brave lad, I’m sure he’ll survive.”

 

“You’re brave but didn’t survive,” she quips, teasing him completely about all those years ago.

 

“Oh, love, _shut up_.”

 


	54. who to call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 15\. accidentally called your number while drunk asking for a ride and you actually came AU.

It’s late at night, well, midnight to be precise, when she hears the ringing of her phone, and it’s _insistent._

 

Blindly, she picks it up, hitting the answer button while rubbing her eyes and sitting up in bed. “Hello?”

 

“Oh, hello, Swan,” he drawls, the words coming out like it’s being slurred.

 

“Jones, you’re fucking drunk, aren’t you?” she mutters, flipping the covers off and perching on the side of her bed.

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“That means _yes_ ,” she says.

 

“I need a - erm, I need a ride.”

 

She hangs up on him, not even responding with a _yes_ and forgetting to ask what bar he’s at, but there’s only _one_ decent bar in town, so that’s the location she begrudgingly drives over to. She’s still in sweats and a tanktop, but she’s got her leather jacket in case she gets too cold.

 

He’s there, leaning outside against the wall, his hand fumbling with his phone when she pulls up. “Get in, Jones.”

 

When his head snaps up, there’s a surprised look on his face, as if he didn’t expect her to come give him a ride. Well, of course not, she didn’t exactly tell him she was going to. But he’s a friend, and she does like him.

 

“I didn’t mean to call you,” he grumbles, his words still a little joint together when he speaks, taking a couple of tries to buckle in the seat-belt.

 

“What do you mean you didn’t mean to call me?”

 

“It was purely accidental, Swan.”

 

“Jeez, how _drunk_ are you?” she mumbles, making a u-turn on the street and driving toward his apartment. It’s times like these, quiet and dead in the night, a small town, does no traffic come to be extremely handy. “You didn’t expect me to come pick you up, did you?”

 

He mutters something like a “No,” but she can’t pick up on it because he’s half-awake by this point, the alcohol surely burning all of his adrenaline out of his body. Emma knows he doesn’t get into bar fights often, not unless it involves his honour or something about his past, such as Liam or his parents. She knows Killian only drinks himself into oblivion when something has gone wrong with his day or if memories have come back that which he requires to think drowning himself will numb everything away.

 

The sad part is that she knows exactly how he feels, it’s just that Emma isn’t as excessive with this sort of stuff - Deputy of Storybrooke and all. But he’s a close friend, and even if he’s accidentally dialled her number instead of someone else, she doesn’t mind giving him the ride he needs. Whether it’s because she has feelings for him ( _mild_ , she reminds herself, mild feelings) or because it’s just her job to make sure everyone’s safe in town, she’ll give him that ride.

 

The car ride is silent for the remainder of the way, and he’s still awake, but he stares out the window at the streetlamps they pass by, and perhaps something has hit too close to home this time around. He’s never this silent, usually a lot more talkative.

 

“It’s the anniversary of my brother’s death,” he quietly whispers when she pulls the car into parking mode, turning the keys to shut the engine off.

 

She doesn’t know how to respond to that, how she should even feel. Apologetic? Sympathetic? She knows he hates pity, probably applies the same way with sympathy as well, but she’s never had _family_ , she doesn’t know how it feels to have someone loving and _then_ lose them. She’s just been alone all her life, since she was born, she wonders how similar it could be, if she can even compare their two different situations.

 

“Bloody hell, what was I thinking?” he mutters, rubbing his face. “I won’t burden you with my own personal life, Swan. Thank you for the ride, even though I didn’t mean to call you.”

 

He’s getting out of the car before she pulls him back, the door clamping shut. “You’re not...burdening me, Killian. Whatever you’re going through - hell, I don’t know how you feel on that part of losing your brother - but you can tell me. Vent, rant, yell, whatever, I’ll listen.”

 

“You’re the Deputy of Storybrooke, you’ve got enough on your hands.”

 

She chuckles, shaking her head. “Not really. As you can tell, we’re not a town full of nefarious crime committers or gang leaders.”

 

That gets him to lighten up a bit, sitting back down in the seat. “I suppose not,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just...the memory is still quite real, finding out he’s gone and that I could have prevented him from leaving to join the Navy.”

 

“You said you were young back then, you couldn’t have known.”

 

“But that’s the issue here, I _could_ have also known as well, or well, stopped him. But he was stubborn, believed the Navy was everything to him. His _honour_ led to his _death_.”

 

“Which was, supposedly speaking, a reckless mistake that he couldn’t have stopped, nor could you.” She sighs, her hand moving to curl around his neck, pulling him toward her so he can face her ( _closely_ ). “Killian, you can’t keep blaming yourself for his death.”

 

He searches her, she knows how to do that too. He’s always told her she’s an open book, and he’s reading her, reading her for a lie in her statement or how she’s trying to help. Killian eventually gives in, shutting his eyes. “I know.”

 

“I wish I could understand what you’re going through. But I don’t. I’ve just... _never_ been loved, never had anything to lose; so I can’t empathize with you, but I’m trying to be a good friend, alright? Not the Deputy, but a friend.”

 

“Okay,” he whispers, inhaling a deep breath. “Thank you, love.”

 

It’s still dark outside, the streetlamps the only source of light to the inside of her car. “Go to bed, sleep off what you’ve had tonight. Maybe next time you can buy me that drink you’ve always wanted.”

 

Killian smiles, and it’s genuine, despite his current stupor. “I’ll hold you to that, Swan.”

 

“Like you’ll remember by tomorrow morning.”

 

“I’m sure I will,” he responds, leaning forward and kissing her forehead. “Once again, I apologize for waking you up and bothering you with my issues. I’m forever in your debt.”

 

She smiles back. “I’ll be sure to remember that because I’m not the drunk one.”

 

“You’re a smart one.” He pushes car door open, stepping outside. “Goodnight, Swan.”

 

“Goodnight, Killian.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. This is the last one for tonight.


	55. these sick, sick days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11\. ‘room mate gets sick and needs tissues and cough sweets and soup’ au.

She has never been so sick in her life. And this cold has the worst timing yet - leaving her in an emotional mess from her monthly cycle, _and_ with the symptoms of an oncoming cold that doesn't seem likely to be prevented.

 

Killian, well, he's a nice guy - arrogant and flirtatious, his own defensive system of his - but he's usually never home. He's always just at work in his good-payment office job, or he's at a pub with his friends most of the night. Emma only ever hears him return late or when she sees him in the morning after he's freshly showered and shaved, suit jacket hanging in his arm while he tightens the tie around his neck.

 

(He's also super attractive, unfairly, super attractive.)

 

Now, her story is curling up on the couch with 5 blankets wrapped around her, half-awake to whatever the hell is playing on TV. She doesn't have the strength to reach for the remote on the coffee table in front of her, and she wants to get up and make some tea, but she knows her endurance for any physical efforts would be in vain if she tried.

 

Oh, and every time she needs to go to the washroom, she's a coughing catastrophe. (She sits on the toilet and sighs to herself, knowing this isn't going to let up soon.)

 

"Good evening, Swa -" he stops himself, blinking.

 

She chuckles weakly, tugging her blankets closer to her. "Hi," she grinds out, looking at him with tired eyes and _damn_ he still looks hot in a suit every time. "Don't mind me," she murmurs, curling her legs up more so she's practically in a fetal position.

 

"You're horribly ill, even I can see that much," he says, shrugging out of his suit jacket and throwing it onto one of the dining chairs. "Have you eaten?"

 

"No."

 

"Let me make dinner, then." He removes his tie, throwing it on top of the dining chair where his jacket is. "I'll run down to the pharmacy later, grab some cough drops and such."

 

It's not often she gets sick, but when she does, Killian tends to take care of her every way when he can, and it's the sweetest thing ever, despite the lack of time they spend together in the first place. The first few steps she takes away from the bed is to get more tissues and he glances at her before she mutters, “I need more tissues.” He laughs and keeps cooking, and it smells delicious and now she’s all hungry, another thing to put herself up with.

 

Honestly, it feels like every time she coughs, she has to go the washroom in worry of _other_ things.

 

The aroma of whatever food he’s cooking up smells so good, she would’ve thrown all of her blankets off of herself by now, but it’s warm and cozy, something Emma doesn’t want to give up. Of course he brings it to her, dragging the coffee table closer and setting the bowl of soup down for her.

 

“Drink this,” he orders, “and go to bed for a bit. I’ll make that quick trip for more supplies, I’ll wake you up when I’m home, alright, love?”

 

“Okay,” she murmurs, taking the hot bowl of soup in her hands.

 

By far the _best_ soup she’ll ever have.

 

.~.

 

She’s still awake when he’s back, seeing the light peek in from her bedroom door being cracked open, his stupid little head popping in with a bag of supplies, _all_ just for her.

 

“Awake still, Swan?”

 

“Yep,” she coughs. Her throat feels much better, but it’s still sore and a bit dry, her head is swimming in very bloaty thoughts, and she just does not want to move, but being on her period prompts her to have to shuffle her way toward the washroom every so often. “Thanks for this,” she murmurs, sitting up in bed, turning her lamp on.

 

“It’s not a problem, love,” he says, removing contents from the bag.

 

 _Two_ new boxes of tissue, some cough syrup (which she hates but cannot deny that helps overtime), and some cough drops to take throughout the day when she needs something to cool her throat. He helps her with the syrup, opening the packaging for her since she’s too weak to push down on the cap and remove it, pouring some into the plastic cup they give before she swallows it all.

 

She groans, licking her lips, tasting the remnants. It’s not _too_ bad, but she doesn’t like it. Nor does she like being sick.

 

“Sleep,” he whispers, taking the plastic cup from her. “I’ll be here tomorrow.”

 

“No work?”

 

“‘s a Saturday, sweetheart; day off.”

 

She yawns. “Oh.”

 

He chuckles and dips down, pressing his lips to her forehead. It feels _warm_ there, his contact giving her something she keeps lacking unless there’s something wrapping her up. (To be frank, her body is fluctuating temperatures and it feel awful.)

 

“I would’ve taken a day off work for you anyways,” he murmurs before leaving.

 

 _Considerate bastard_.

 

.~.

 

By morning, she already feels a bit better, but she’s still horribly sick, having the urge to cough unless she stays still in bed and doesn’t move.

 

He brings in more of his soup for her with his _goodmorning_ smile, a little cocky, but softened around the edges today, probably because of her sickness.

 

And she’d expect him to tease her and all, but it seems like he’s not going to.

 

(She’s sure he will once she’s gotten better, though.)

 

“Feeling better today, love?”

 

“Yes,” she answers, licking her lips from the soup. “Thanks to you, mostly.”

 

He grins, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Do you need anything else?”

 

“Something else to eat besides soup, maybe?” she suggests, shrugging lightly.

 

She doesn’t need to repeat that twice before he’s run off back to the kitchen to make her something. It turns out he’s like a servant when she’s the one who’s feeling bad, now she’ll just need to be the same if he ever gets sick. Pay back the favour.

 

There are a couple missed calls and unanswered text messages from her phone. Finishing up her soup, she sets it aside on the nightstand, grabbing her phone and shooting a couple responses to her friends (whom are just worrying about her). It’s not like she’s going to die.

 

“I reckon Mary Margaret’s worrying?”

 

She glances up from her phone, realizing she’s been on it for a lot longer than she expected if he’s finished showering already. “Oh yeah, like she always does.”

 

Killian chuckles. “Your friends worry quite a bit, Swan.”

 

“They’re your friends, too.”

 

She doesn’t bother bickering with him about that because a sudden sneeze comes.

 

.~.

 

It’s four entire days of staying home sick before she begins to feel much, much better, and on her insistence, she tells him to go back to work by the fifth, that he can’t keep wasting sick days on days where _she’s_ the sick one. He just gets to return to her probably asleep on the couch after her shows on Netflix have ended, or perhaps a movie that’s been long forgotten.

 

Either she wakes up in bed in a complete mess, or she wakes up tucked properly on the couch, cushions, blankets and all to accommodate a shitty sleeping position.

 

By the end of the following week, she’s back on her feet and chasing all the bad guys, _again_ , but it’s quite refreshing.

 

Only when she returns back, she finds Killian with his arm slung over his face, his forehead burning.

 

She supposes it’s _her_ turn to take care of him this time around.

 

(And as much as he’s sick, she kisses him on the lips and he manages to respond by tangling his hand in her hair and pulling her on top of him on the couch, laughing like stupid teenagers when they break apart.

 

Sick or not, she likes him, and she knows she’s already on her way to loving him, too.)

 


	56. foreshadowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 24\. forget high school students AU i want a high school teachers AU + 38. Teacher au where all their students ship it.

He is _insufferable_ , the damn prick.

 

Killian Jones is the Gym teacher at Storybrooke Highschool in Portland. Emma Swan is the popular English teacher.

 

It’s not that she hates him for who he is, she hates being _around_ him because of how he acts (there _is_ a difference), and most of the time, he’s sweaty and disgusting (though she sees him work out all the time and teach the teens). There’s a good bit of students in her English classes that always walk in tired but also somewhat energetic because he teaches a period of Gym right before her.

 

And sometimes with that spare period of his, he drops by her class and waves, winking at her before leaving.

 

It’s so dumb and ridiculous of him that he spends his time flirting with her or pissing her off, it’s like she’s his target at archery practice or something. (But to be honest, he’s hitting that bulls eye pretty accurately.)

 

She’s sure his mission is to simply screw with her when he gets the chance. He does, actually, during lunch or after school when all classes have been dismissed and most students have left. In fact, he comes to visit her after all classes are over, students hurriedly exiting her classroom, leaving her wiping off the whiteboard, him wanting to _keep her company_ , or whatever the hell that means.

 

Emma is observant, she notices the looks that students exchange between her and Killian, but their relationship is strictly professionally with some joking around time to time, it’s never been more than the fact they’re co-workers.

 

(It’s hard to ignore his wind strewn dark hair, blue eyes, and scruff, no matter how hard she tries to push him away in the efforts of attempting to get some marking on essays done.)

 

She’s known him for five years now, ever since he arrived to replace the veteran Gym teacher who retired.

 

So point made, he’s just an endless amount of both torment and delight when being around him.

 

.~.

 

“Hello, Miss Swan,” he greets when passing her in the hallway. “I hope you have a marvelous day.”

 

She can smell his cologne or whatever and it smells really nice. Damn. “Hey, Mr. Jones,” she mumbles back, “you too.”

 

It’s always like this around students. She acts (mostly acts) like she dislikes him and wishes he could disappear off the face of the earth while he tries, _tries_ , to maintain a polite conversation even though there’s every possible chance of an innuendo laced between his words.

 

And being an English teacher, she knows exactly when he strikes and what he means.

 

What’s even worse is that the school has a system on the computers where teachers can privately chat to each other ( _only_ of school matters, minds out of the gutter here), which means when she’s at her computer typing away at a new assignment outline while the students are examining poetry or short stories, it also means _he’s_ in front of his computer in his office.

 

Safe to say neither of them really _work_ with this chat.

 

**_K. Jones: Students behaving, Swan?_ **

 

**_E. Swan: Yes, thank you for disciplining many of the so well in your P.E. classes. All very focused._ **

 

**_K. Jones: Lovely to hear that they work well. After all, they have a good educator watching over them._ **

 

He’s never been subtle in terms of complimenting her.

 

**_E. Swan: Shouldn’t you be planning out what you’re doing next for your classes?_ **

 

**_K. Jones: I’ll have you know, love, that I plan everything way ahead of time. A schedule, much like the students do for their classes._ **

 

**_E. Swan: Unlike you, I have to write out a new assignment outline on an Shakespearian analysis._ **

 

**_K. Jones: Ah, yes, well the best of luck with that, Swan. I’ll leave you to it. See you at lunch._ **

 

**_E. Swan: Right._ **

 

She doesn’t show up to the staff room at lunch, instead opting to sit in her class and read a book she’s been meaning to read for a long time. At first, she thinks it’s a student who needs help, but with a raise of her head, it’s _him_ , with two cups to-go cups from Starbucks.

 

“Hot chocolate with cinnamon,” he says, offering it to her.

 

“They usually don’t sell this at the one near us,” she responds, snatching the cup from his hand, the warmth seeping through. “Don’t tell me you _bribed_ them, Jones.”

 

“Oh, but I did.” He sips at his own drink with a shameless face, raised eyebrow and all of his cocky glory. “I’m joking, love.”

 

“Uh-huh.” She nods, taking a drink from her cup. He was not lying when he said it’s hot chocolate with cinnamon. “Thank you, however. How much was it?”

 

He laughs, shaking his head. “Payment is unnecessary.”

 

Every time she’s _tried_ to argue with him, she’s never able to win because he always brings up the victorious point or leaves before she can retaliate back. Despite being an English teacher (proclaimed by rumours that she’s the best in the school), her debating skills are...not the best (when it comes to Killian, mainly). So basically, pitting her against him is a terrible idea.

 

When the first bell goes off to notify students lunch is ending, she sighs and he turns, throwing his cup in the recycling bin at the back of the class. “See you later, love.”

 

It must be her students that notice him leaving, because they begin to question her.

 

“Mr. Jones was here!”

 

“It’s nothing, Henry,” she dismisses, shaking her head and setting her unfinished drink on her desk.

 

“Oh, come on, Mr. Jones talks to you all the time,” Grace suddenly states.

 

“He talks to a lot of women all the time,” Emma responds, trying to reason with the students who are some of her best, but quite picky in her...love life, apparently.

 

“But he doesn’t talk to them as much as he talks to you,” another student pitches in, Peter.

 

Henry nods. “ _Nor_ does he just buy your favourite drink without you needing to pay for it before spending his entire lunch talking to you without another intention behind him. Miss Swan, everyone thinks you two would make the cutest couple...it’s a fact. But there, you know what all the students think!”

 

Emma sighs, shaking her head. This boy is perceptive, must’ve overheard the conversation anyways and saw the drink sitting on her desk. “You guys shouldn’t be so invested in my love life.”

 

“Where’s the fun in that?” they all chirp.

 

It’s not thats she’s never considered it. He is an intelligent, attractive man, surely he’d also be a good partner, but dating in the workplace would be awkward. She doesn’t do well with awkward situations. “Get to your seats, we’re talking Shakespeare, kids.”

 

They all mumble something before returning to their seats begrudgingly.

 

The rest of her day goes by with a blur of shuffling papers, using markers, taking up questions and nothing more. She hears the whispers exchanged about her and Killian, she’s not deaf, she’s not dumb, she _knows_ these kids apparently want them together. But she’s not going to ask him out to dinner or on any date, in fact, she’ll just someone ease into a conversation about his intentions.

 

Funnier thing is, all the teachers, either married or single, think they’d make a perfect couple.

 

God, _what_ is with her life?

 

.~.

 

It’s easy for rumours to spread, but any student that has either had her and/or Killian as a teacher knows just about _everything_ of their little platonic relationship, only making things so much more difficult and frustrating.

 

“You know all the students _and_ teachers think we’d look good together?”

 

“Aye, so I’ve heard,” he says, eating his fruit salad. “I certainly don’t deny it.”  
  


“Really now?”

 

“Swan, I visit you after classes and during lunch. I bring you food and drinks.” He chuckles, licking his lips off, the sauce on it. “I think it’s fairly obvious now I won’t deny I have feelings for you. It’s been awhile now.”

 

“You’re not joking, are you?”

 

He wipes his lips with a napkin and takes a drink from his water. “No,” he begins softly, “I’m not. Does it seem like I’m lying to you, Emma?”

 

“No.”

 

Killian hums, standing up from his seat, walking closer toward her. “Exactly,” he murmurs. He’s close to her now, his breath hot against her skin, a quiet moment between two teachers who’s always had a little misunderstanding of each other, as if they couldn’t stand each other. “I like you,” he whispers, “a lot, Swan.”

 

_Oh, what the hell?_

 

No one’s going to see them in his office (which smells very much like his cologne and is extremely organized and neat), so she pulls him by the collar of his jacket, crashing her lips against his without thinking about it any further. He tastes like the fruits he’s just eaten, apples, peaches, grapes. There’s a mixture of so many different flavours, it makes kissing him _so_ much better, but the best thing is how his lips move, how his hands slip around her waist.

 

Her hands slide up to his chest - she can _feel_ the muscle beneath it all. Damn it, he’s a Gym teacher, what did she expect? Of course he’s muscular and fit.

 

She’s wrecked, _completely_ wrecked by this kiss; the emotion and intensity from him, like he’s been waiting for all of the five years they’ve known each other to do that. Now she’s opened her eyes, she _wants_ this just as much as he wants her.

 

Awkward in the workplace or not.

 

“I like you, too,” she finally confesses against his lips, foreheads touching, noses bumping.

 

“Let me take you out for dinner,” he says. “When are you free?”

 

“Thursday night.”

 

He grins, kissing her quickly again. “Thursday night it is.”

 

.~.

 

A month into their dating, the students can’t help but giggle and whisper and make up ideas and assume they’re dating (they _are_ , they’ve just kept it to a secret). These pesky teenagers in Grade 9 and her graduating students in Grade 12 are all the same.

 

They always ask how it’s going.

 

She always responds with the same thing.

 

“ _Non-existent_.”

 

They always share a quick goodmorning kiss when he passes her a coffee, like he’s waiting for her outside in the parking lot, sitting on the hood of his car. They’re always to school extremely early, ways to avoid students and other faculty members. It also gives them plenty of time to engage in more activities (not that they’ve gone _that_ far).

 

_“It’s so obvious between them, guys. And it’s disgustingly adorable.”_

 

_“Mr. Jones flirts so openly sometimes. And he’s always insinuating something with her, it’s sorta weird.”_

 

_“I ship it. Why can’t they get together?”_

 

_“I bet they are together.”_

 

It’s the same things they hear any day, but the students are just unaware that they _are_ together.

  
For now, it’ll stay that way because she’s perfectly content with how things are.


	57. colours for another day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 17\. the one where the closer you are to them the more aware of them you become, and you find them playing a hot/cold game; for instance, colors get brighter and brighter the closer you are and fade into gray when they’re too far away

It's a complicated world to live in.

 

Soulmates, distance, _colour_.

 

Yeah, _complicated_.

 

She's educated of how love works out in this world in sixth grade. The teachers explaining the basis of how there's someone in this world, in this lifetime, where they are born to be with you. Emma wonders about that possibility - aware too much that even if this person is supposed to love her, it doesn't mean he will.

 

For all she knows, her soulmate could've dropped off the world and she'd never meet him.

 

It's funny, really, being taught colours even when you don't know them explicitly. That you can't tell the difference because everything is grey scale and nothing more. It's the harsh reality to think that she'll never be capable of distinguishing colours. It isn't that important in life, situations such as traffic lights and clothing accordingly accommodated.

 

She knows happy endings are rare, hard to achieve. Therefore, she doesn't hold expectations or dreams for herself to think she'll ever meet the man she's destined to be with.

 

The moment she meets her biological parents, she cries. Not because she's found them after all the years of abandonment and loneliness, but because her parents, David and Mary Margaret Nolan, are soulmates, also the epitome of true love. It's something she's envious of, seeing them so blissfully happy. But make no mistake, she is still relieved and delighted to now have parents who care deeply for her. Now, she knows the story behind why she was left all alone.

 

She understand that, but the feeling will never vanish. Deep down, she’ll always feel like a lost little girl who thinks she’ll never matter.

 

But, she wonders what colours they can see. Blue, green, violet, red?

 

"The world is a beautiful place when coloured," her mother states. "We have no doubt you'll find your soulmate, Emma. Hope is a powerful thing, after all."

 

Perhaps her mother is correct - hope is a powerful thing.

 

And so she dares to hope.

 

.~.

 

Parties are never her thing, but it's what her parents insist when she moves to Storybrooke, to live with her parents, to get out of the loud city rush. It's a nice town, she enjoys the people, the company. The lack of places to shop is a downside, in case of new clothes, but other than that, Storybrooke is the ideal place to have a quiet life.

 

At the party, it's the first time she swears she sees a flash of faint colours, something definitely not black, white, or grey. But it's gone before she can think about it anymore, the rush of her parent's friends coming in to greet her. She tries to think back to the moment, but it's been too long of a time now, forgetting if she's just seeing things or actually experiencing it because her soulmate could possibly reside here in Storybrooke.

 

The rest of the day goes by like a blur, names and faces being memorized on her part. Figuring out by first impressions who she likes or dislikes, who she trusts or doesn’t trust.

 

It's late that night, she can't sleep, so she escapes the confines of her parent's loft and roams around the town, remembering all the roads and shops, making it easier for her to navigate through the town. And all suddenly, she sees the colour again, unsaturated, not vibrant enough, but it's enough for her to notice. Immediately, she heads in the direction where the colours become brighter, the yellow of street lamps glow, the colours of signs and cars.

 

There's ships down by the pier, and she strolls along the docks before the colours are so full, everything feels so... _fake_ , the lack of experience with real colours a shock to register.

 

She doesn't check the ships, she doesn't search for her soulmate nearby, she simply let's the colour drain away while she heads back to the loft, figuring that she can get this sorted out at a more proper hour of the day.

 

.~.

 

The colours only ever return when she's near the docks. She wonders if her soulmate is a sailor, a man who's got the blood of the sea. She wonders if his eyes are the bluest of them all. She wonders if he knows about her by now - surely he does, a small town makes gossip easy. Besides, he should be seeing colours too.

 

She asks her parents if anyone lives by the docks, and they answer without haste, a simple, yet intriguing name.

 

 _Killian Jones_.

 

In her gut, deep down, she knows that this mysterious Killian Jones is her other half.

 

It's one day, a man ventures into Granny's, someone she's never seen before. Dark hair messed up by the wind, the blue eyes she's dreamed and imagined of, a shaven bit of scruff which fits his attractive appearance. The colours are rushing in, and immediately, his eyes turn to her, both of them locking gazes, intense and real and _unbelievable_.

 

He doesn't make a move to approach her too quickly, only casually sauntering toward her and sitting down in front of here. His eyes are much more brighter when up close, bits of ginger in his facial hair, his skin lightly tanned.

 

She can _really_ she colours.

 

"Killian Jones," he says, extending his hand out.

 

She licks her lips and smiles, taking it for a firm shake. "Emma Swan."

 

(Technically Emma Nolan, but she's kept _Swan_ since a child, she may as well keep it.)

 

"Aren't you a Nolan?"

 

"Uh, technically yes." She shrugs, taking a sip from her hot cocoa. "But before my parents recently found me, I was always a Swan, so I guess I'm just gonna stick with it."

 

There’s nothing but understanding in his eyes, there’s no judgement from him. "No matter." He grins. "You're beautiful like a real swan."

 

"Laying out all your cards, aren't you, buddy?"

 

His chuckle is rich in a way, a noise that's music to her ears. His voice is already one thing. "I've nothing to lose, love. I just found my bloody _soulmate_."

 

She forgets about the food gone cold.

 

.~.

 

Emma spends the rest of his day with him, walking around town, scouring his ship in pure curiosity and adventure or simply sitting on the beach.

 

The water is a deep blue, his eyes remind her very much of the sea. The yellow of the sun is a vibrant colour, a colour which she grows fond of when it’s shining over his skin. Red, another colour so bright, one that sticks out in the open - the seats in Granny’s Diner. Oh, and _green_ , green of the trees and shrub which feels like it represents both nature and energy.

 

But her favourite colour so far is still blue. There are many shades of colours, and all the shades of blue are beautiful. The baby blue of the sky, the dark blue of the water, the navy of his dress shirt, the ones of his eyes with the varying dark specks.

 

It’s such a different experience seeing the world in colours. It _is_ a beautiful place like her mother has said.

 

“What’s your favourite colour?” she asks.

 

“Green,” he murmurs.

 

“Not blue?” she asks, thinking that would be the colour of choice considering he loves the sea.

 

“No,” he responds firmly, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Green. Green because it is the colour of your eyes, the beauty and passion and pure _wonder_ behind them which makes me want to stare into them for the rest of my life. And yellow, yellow because your hair is that golden colour, love. The glow of a sun, the light in the dark.” His smile is soft. “Then comes blue.”

 

Emma Swan doesn’t get teary, but maybe just this once. A traitorous tear slips out one eye and he brushes it away with his free hand, smiling at her like she is the sun, _his_ sun, like the sun he’s described.

 

It feels like a fairy tale, that this happy ending - well, more like happy _beginning_ \- is well within her reach now. He kisses her then, beneath the moonlight and the stars of the dark skies, the gentle sway of the ship along being docked to shore, his hands warm and his lips loving. It’s nothing like she’s felt before, like after twenty-eight bleak years of her life, a new chance is given and the opportunity is taken, this unforgettable memory. She feels alive, even if she’s only spent a mere day with him.

 

Her heart beats like a drum.

 

A smile she cannot fight; a battle she cannot win.

 

And a man who’s giving her love she’s lacked in her life, and not because of their ability of seeing colours, but because he is a man who knows loneliness as much as she does.

 

They begin to patch up each other’s rugged hearts. That’s how it starts.

 

.~.

 

Of course, her parents are beyond ecstatic to hear of this news. Killian Jones and Emma Swan, a new pair of soulmates in this world, born and meant to be together, love or not.

 

She lives for the little moments with her family, the ones with David and Mary Margaret, the ones with Killian.

 

She fears of commitment, but Killian helps her slowly ease into it in a way that is comfortable and simplistic. He doesn’t push her, after all, he is a patient man, a gentleman, too. There are times where she’s across the town opposite from where he is at the docks where the colours fade from her view, and it’s utmost disappointment when that happens. Any distance too far results in the loss of seeing colours, returning to the blacks, whites, and greys.

 

It’s never a concern to her anymore, she feels loved by many people in town. She knows that moving here to Storybrooke was a good idea, despite the lack of commerce. Other than that, everything is calm, quiet, and purely joy.

 

There’s times where she spends her days with Killian, out at sea with his ship, or just lazily tangled in a bed at Granny’s when the winds are too ferocious to spend on the ship in safety. Being by his side is her home; Storybrooke is also a part of her home. That much she personally knows.

 

And love, _love_ she’s grown fond of.

 

Perhaps it’s the way he kisses her tenderly, his touches soft, his words of endearment whispered against her skin in the early mornings or the late nights. Perhaps it’s the way he finds little ways to make her happy, the unexpected presents and surprises she gets exposed to. Perhaps it’s the way he smiles or how his blue eyes show something more than just simple fondness, something more beyond the lines of how much he loves her.

 

Whatever it is, she’s sure everything he does for her is from love.

 

Even if it’s her parents showering her with the care and kindness, it’s love. Even if it’s Ruby and Granny always making sure to serve her the best grilled cheese and hot cocoa with cinnamon she’s ever had, it’s love.

 

There’s just something about colour, however, that makes everything feel tenfold more realistic. Even if it’s months after finding her soulmate, she’s just as mind-blown every time.

 

“Have I ever thanked you?” she asks in the early hours, both of them early wakers to the sunrise.

 

He hums behind her, his nose pressed to her shoulder, his arm tucked beneath hers while she hugs onto it. “I don’t believe so, but what for, love?” he asks, his voice still quite thick with sleep.

 

“For everything, I guess,” she replies.

 

Emma can feel his lips curl against her skin, despite the soft fabric of his oversized shirt being a barrier between them.

 

“Then I suppose I should be thanking you too, darling,” he murmurs, his lips moving to press a kiss behind her ear.

 

There’s something about his little affectionate gestures like this that makes her want to just hold onto him for the rest of her life. Emma, she’s only ever been able to prove herself through actions more than words. She’s not talented with speaking out on how she feels, Killian’s the expert at that, so she strives for ways to show him through her actions.

 

And by the way he always grins sweetly, she knows he understands.

 

He extracts his arm from her hold and tugs the comforter up and over their shoulders, blocking out the faint yellow light streaming in through the curtains. A colour both of them usually love in the mornings. Except, both of them are tired and not wanting to leave the bed this time around.

 

“Sleep,” he mumbles quietly, finding his arm wrapping around her waist and holding her closer to him.

 

She knows she will live to see colours for another day.

 

And for a million more.

 


	58. twelve years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2\. Found the phone number of an old childhood friend in some box at the back of my closet and decided to call it to see if it still worked AU
> 
>  **note:** this oneshot earns an _M_ rating. there is smut near the ending, when you reach there, you can skip it if you'd like. otherwise, enjoy the angst, the fluff, and if you're reading it, my horrible smut writing abilities.

He’s not the most sentimental man, but he does keep some old remnants of his childhood in boxes at the back of his closet. However, he doesn’t go through it often, but today, he’s rather reminiscent about his past. Perhaps it’s the way Liam is moving on in his life with a new son soon, or maybe it’s just his desire from desire. Whatever reason it is, he’s going through some of his old stuff.

 

Photos, little sentiments gathered through the years, stuff he just hasn’t touched in ages.

 

At the bottom, buried in the corner, is a flap of paper he doesn’t remember putting there. At first, he thinks about throwing it out since it must’ve been something long forgotten and recklessly thrown into his box of old possessions, but when he decides to open the flap, sprawled across in black sharpie is a phone number he specifically remembers from one of his childhood friends.

 

The one he...well, at least at the time, loved. He knows his feelings are dormant, but for a fact, he knows he still loves her.

 

He spent years with her, from elementary all the way to the sophomore year of high school, despite herself being thrown back and forth in some foster families and group homes. Unless she’s transferred an entire state, she always managed to end up not leaving the schools he was attending.

 

_“Killian!” she shouts. “Give me my apple back.”_

 

_“Unlikely, Emma.” He chuckles, taunting her with biting the apple, though he has no intention of eating it. “I’m joking, here you go.” He hands it back to her, her hand snatching the fruit from his hands with a small scowl before she takes her bite into it._

 

_“Thanks,” she mutters after she’s done chewing, only to keep eating._

 

The memory still makes him laugh, their childish days back in grade 5, the both of them practically inseparable. For a moment, he debates about calling the number, to see if it still works. Most likely a new handler, but there’s no harm in trying, right?

 

He sets it on his nightstand for now, rummaging through his things for a little longer, finding some other items from his childhood. The more he searches, the more he remembers a lot of these were from his times spent with Emma, stuff that’s been a distant memory in his mind.

 

He used to be young and dumb, bothering her so often. But secretly, he knew how happy it made her, how he was a light in her darkness because the foster families never really care much for her. He knew that she was friends with him because he was the same, because all he had left was Liam and no parents. However she never had family. In a way, he remembers, he was family to her, before getting ripped away in tears.

 

With a shaky sigh, he squeezes his eyes shut and thinks of the happy times.

 

_She’s not smart in mathematics, she tells him._

 

_There’s no hesitance when he offers to tutor and help her through the school work they get, even if they have different teachers. So long the curriculum is the same, he can guide her through the work. According to her, the foster parents at the house don’t care too much about where she is as long as it’s somewhere safe or with someone to watch over her, which is disappointing parenting skills, but she’s safe at his house, welcome._

 

_Liam never cares, he likes Emma Swan, thinks she’s a bright, young lass with plenty of potential. And obviously, he always teases Killian about liking her, even when he’s barely got that notion down on girlfriends and loves._

 

_He spends hours after school with Emma at home, trying to have her comprehend the word questions she struggles with._

 

_“I’ve always sucked at word questions,” she huffs. “Why do they even exist in math?”_

 

_He laughs, stretching his legs out on the bed. “Now that is an answer I do not have. But they’re a lot easier when you break them down, right? Write down the facts they give you, figure it out step by step. Honestly, don’t overthink it, Swan.”_

 

_By the looks of it, her head throwing back with a groan means her opinion isn't going to change. “Yes, it’s easier, but I’m still highly incapable of completing them.”_

 

_“How about a break, then? I’m sure Liam’s making dinner by now.”_

 

_“TV?”_

 

_He grins. “Race you.”_

 

Slowly, he begins to shove things back into the box before setting it back into the back of his closet. He stares at the piece of scrap paper that’s worn before picking it up and getting his phone from the living room, hesitantly dialling the number.

 

It’ll be pure luck if she still owns this number.

 

_“Swan, love, would you wanna join us in a friendly game of cards?”_

 

_She scoffs, shaking her head. “Last time you said that, it ended up with all of us screaming at each other about who was cheating and who actually won.”_

 

_“You’re correct on that.” He chuckles, throwing his arm around her shoulders. “Come on, let’s play one, yeah? Robin, Ruby, Victor, and Dave, we’re all playing.” When she finally gives in, he fishes the deck of cards from his pocket before they all sit down in a circle, spending their lunch playing a match of Slapjack and Crazy Eights._

 

_“You sure you’re not dating her?” Ruby asks._

 

_“We’re best friends, Ruby,” Killian responds, denying it._

 

_Emma nods. “Yep; best friends. What about you and Victor?”_

 

 _Ruby grumbles, “God, no.”_  


_“God, yes,” everyone else chirps, leaving Ruby with a little blush and Victor nervously chuckling._

 

_He knows better than anything that he loves her. He simply denies it._

 

_He should tell her before all 4 years pass by._

 

_(Not yet.)_

 

It’s taunting him, this ringing that keeps him waiting.

 

The moment the ringing ends and there’s a voice on the other end, he swears, he may just have the luck in his hands.

 

“Swan?”

 

_He’s reading when his phone buzzes._

 

**_Emma: I’m coming over._ **

 

_She almost never comes over this late, her foster parents likely keeping their eyes out. In less than 10 minutes, there’s knocking at the door when he rushes down the hallway to fling the door open. She looks like she’s been destroyed. The light on the porch shines on her face, the red-brimmed eyes, her heavy breathing indicating her running over to his place._

 

_“Emma?”_

 

_“This - this will be quick,” she stutters, rubbing her eyes quickly. “I’m leaving...in two weeks. I’m leaving.”_

 

_“Leaving? Leaving or being kicked out to another foster home?”_

 

_She sighs, like she’s struggling to form any words to explain her situation. “Transferred, Killian. And it’s not gonna be like before where I could just still end up attending school here. They said they’re putting me in a group home in Boston.”_

 

_“But…”_

 

_“I’m sorry,” she whispers, shaking her head. “I can’t do anything.”_

 

_“Emma -”_

 

_“I gotta go.” She steps back. “I’ll see you at school.”_

 

_Liam hears the conversation, tries to comfort him, but Killian walks straight past him and to his bedroom, sinking onto his bed as he stares at the ceiling._

 

_He needs to tell her._

 

The voice on the other end, the voice that _confirms_ who she is…it’s her.

 

“Killian?”

 

“Emma,” he breathes, running a hand through his hair as he begins to pace back and forth, “you kept the same number all these years.”

 

“How did you know?”

 

He licks his lips, falling onto his bed like an overexcited teenager all over again. “I...remember the time you gave me your number?”

 

“Oh,” she simply responds. “You...kept that?”

 

“I was going through some things, I found it at the bottom of a box in the back of my closet.” He chuckles, somewhat embarrassed at the way he’s presenting himself. This, this is good news, a part of him coming back alive. “Swan?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Where are you?”

 

“Uh, at home.”

 

“Where’s home?”

 

“Well...an apartment in Boston.”

 

Home is a sensitive topic, he’s aware. Curiosity then strikes him, remembering she had been transferred there. “You never left Boston?”

 

“Oh, no, I did, trust me.” She huffs out an indignant laugh. “New York was too much, too busy. Boston’s quieter, plus, the job pays well, despite how frustrating it can be. What about you?”

 

“Still in Storybrooke.”

 

“So _you_ never left,” she says, accurately, actually.

 

He nods, almost as if he’d expect her to see him, even though he knows she can’t. “Aye,” he murmurs, “well, only for college and then returned. In fact, all of our old friends never really left without intentions of returning. We’re rather attached to his little town, planted our roots here and stuck to it.”

 

They stay in silence for a bit, like neither of them have anything more to add to this conversation. It’d be harder if they actually met, but this is over the phone. He wants to find her and visit her, he wants to hug her and never let her go again.

 

_He should tell her he loves her._

 

_They want to throw a goodbye party, but Killian cannot handle the idea of actually attending it. In the end, he only stays for half an hour before he excuses himself, hugging Emma before taking the long route back to the house where Liam is probably waiting for him._

 

_The winds are cold on this winter day._

 

_The winds howling is telling him he should do it._

 

_(He doesn’t.)_

 

_He wants to._

 

It’s not hard to find her.

 

But it is hard to say something to her, to try and say three words he’s been meaning to say since he was 16. But there’s something about seeing her now, all grown up; her golden hair of the sun, her green eyes of nature.

 

Oh, but there are bruises on her face, already fading in it’s dark colours, but still there.

 

“The job,” she says, interrupting his thoughts, “bail bondsperson. Had a rough fight three days ago.”

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

She smiles. “Definitely.”

 

With a gulp, his lips curl into a smile he returns. “Are you okay?”

 

“Yes.”

 

.~.

 

He spends a night with her, watching Marvel films or original Netflix shows. Her yawn indicates she needs sleep, so he takes it as his time to leave.

 

“I’ll call you.”

 

“I look forward to it,” she murmurs, hugging him.

 

Perhaps he keeps his arms around her for a moment longer than needed, but he doesn’t regret it. He disappears into the night, driving back down to Storybrooke, Maine before dropping dead on his bed, staring at the piece of paper next to his digital clock. It doesn’t take long before he falls asleep.

 

 _He tries to act normal around his friends,_ her _friends. But it’s hard to, the memory of her still painful. The tears on her cheek when she says her final goodbye._

 

 _They say he’s miserable. Liam says he needs to stop worrying so much, that he’ll see her again. Perhaps hoping isn’t a bad thing to consider. He’s got decades of life ahead of him, he could see her again,_ once _, and that’d be enough to satisfy him. He just wants to see her again, or maybe hear her voice._

 

_He texts her sometimes, but she stops responding at some point._

 

_She is at a group home, no one can help pay for her bills unless she works herself._

 

_Killian regrets not telling Emma that he loves her. He’ll always love her, that won’t change, but he’s lost his chance._

 

The drive home is always a little over an hour long, sometimes even two if traffic on the freeway gets busy. But he spends some weekends driving to her apartment, and sometimes she'll have newly formed bruises or wounds, and he'll tend to them, her winces hurting him at seeing her in pain. Emma insists she's good at the job, pays easy, but there's dangers to it which he worries about for her.

 

More than once she'll snap at him and he'll back off, knowing his limits. She always apologizes later, when she's half-asleep with her head on his lap while his fingers run through her hair in a soothing manner. Killian knows she means it, it's just her bad days catching up to her when she's had no relief - he'll be a punching bag for her if need be.

 

He spends more days calling her than visiting, but he does make the best out of the days he can physically be next to her. He never says it though, no matter how much he wishes to, he doesn't. Anything about relationships, she gets a little nervous and fidgety, so he tries to take it slow.

 

He is, after all, a patient gentleman.

 

"There was a guy."

 

"Hm?"

 

"There was a guy I knew in New York - he graduated three years before us in Storybrooke. His name was Graham. I liked him, he liked me." She laughs bitterly, closing her eyes. "He died. In front of me. He died saving me, right before my own eyes."

 

"Emma," he murmurs, "I'm sorry to hear that."

 

"That's why I'm so sensitive with relationships. It's like anyone I like, anyone close to me, just...leaves. Or I leave. Either way, it's not a win-win situation."

 

It stops there, neither of them continuing on the conversation. No one deserves to watch someone they like, or even possibly love, die. Let alone because they were trying to keep you safe, risking their own life.  And he can see it haunting her beneath eyes, this hollow hole, yet engraved with pain, killing her inside while she remembers.

 

"I won't leave," he promises later that night, carrying her to bed. "And if you leave, I'll follow. I'll find you."

 

She stirs but she doesn't wake up, only nuzzling her face into his chest.

 

(He loves her, loves her even more if that's possible.)

 

(He still can't tell her. He _won't_ tell her. It's not the right time at all.)

 

_"Did you love her?" Ruby asks, setting a mug of hot cocoa in front of him. With sprinkles of cinnamon._

 

_It reminds him of her. It's been six years. "Yes."_

 

_"Do you still love her?"_

 

_He sighs into his mug, taking a sip and licking his lips, hoping that Ruby will stop interrogating her once he answers._

 

_"Aye." He can't look at any other girl and consider them. Perhaps a one-night stand, but nothing more. "I still love her."_

 

He tells her something over the phone. "Liam's settling in with a wife and soon-to-be child. I wager it's a lad, but Elsa thinks it'll be a lass."

 

She chuckles. "Your intuition was always pretty sharp as a teen."

 

"I'll have you know my intuition is _still_ quite reliable, thank you very much." He hears her move about in her apartment, positive he hears her shut the fridge door and pop a cap of beer open or something. "How's work?" he finally asks.

 

"Boring, at the moment." She sighs and he hears her swallow. "I got a stakeout tonight."

 

"A game of predator and prey," he says with false enthusiasm, "how exhilarating."

 

"You can say that again," she huffs. "How's everyone in Storybrooke?"

 

He shrugs pointlessly, hitting the button on the remote numerous times before he just shuts the TV off. "Same old - it's a small town, nothing very new or interesting around as you know. Ruby helps Granny with the diner, Dave manhandles law enforcement, Mary Margaret teaches, Victor works at the hospital. Liam and I down by the docks, Robin occasionally helping out. Elsa and Anna help their Aunt at Any Given Sundae. Nothing spectacular, really."

 

"Sounds nice, though. Everyone is well, right?"

 

"Aye." _But you're missing, love_ , he wants to say.

 

"Maybe I can visit soon."

 

"That would be a grand plan, Swan, everyone does miss you." _I miss you_ , he thinks to himself, shaking his head. "Tell me when you plan to. It's almost summer, Liam and I can perhaps arrange a day on one of the ships. We can all go on it if you'd like."

 

"Sounds good."

 

_He dreams of her all the time, her voice, her laugh, her smiles and her frowns._

 

_He's got it bad._

 

_"You should look for her," Liam suggests, handing him his paycheck. "Have David help you, I'm sure he misses her as much as you do. We all miss her, you know." When Killian glares at him, Liam sighs. "Okay, maybe not as much as you do, but we all feel a little empty with a missing friend."_

 

_"She was family to me," Killian grumbles, "and I still love her. What if we can't find her? What if something happened to her?"_

 

_"Alright, cheesy advice, but you won't know unless you try to find out."_

 

_"Horribly overused advice, brother."_

 

_"But it's exactly what I meant it as, anyways." And he is right, his brother is always right in one way or another, but sometimes he doesn't listen and gets himself stuck in sticky situations. "Talk to the Sheriff. Do it. See if you can find anything on her, the internet is helpful."_

 

_It's less than helpful in the end, not drawing up any information on her._

 

_He continues to hope._

 

It's a month before she decides to come over. (Three months since he called her in the first place.) By surprise, of course, she doesn't specify when, only the general time. Her yellow bug shows up and she walks into Granny's being bombarded by Ruby and Granny herself. David and Mary Margaret hug her next, being there for breakfast and all. Killian, he comes last, hugging her tightly by burying his face in her hair.

 

Even when they still talk over the phone, when he drives to her place once in awhile, hugging her is such a pleasure.

 

"The ship is ready, should we take it out tomorrow, then?"

 

"Yeah," Emma answers, "tomorrow's good."

 

"Everyone else?"

 

Everyone else agrees and he sends a text to the others, including Liam.

 

"Granny, got a room?" Emma asks. Of course there's a room, he told Granny to spare at least one room for her this week in case she drops by.

 

Originally, Killian planned to offer the spare room in his apartment, but that'd be too much. (With the baby coming, Killian got booted out of the house by Liam.)

 

"Of course! Ruby will get you the key."

 

.~.

 

The sun shines bright and there's a gentle breeze perfect for a ride out. There's food and drinks in a cooler for everybody, he thanks the Jolly for being so spacious to fit all these people on at once. He spends more of his time at the helm (old fashioned ship and all, attracts tourists, however), making sure they're far out enough before he anchors her down.

 

It's all chit chat, shorts and t-shirts, tank tops or sundresses. It's all beer or pop, chips and other unhealthy snacks. It’s not like it's often there's a large reunion.

 

"Why did you never change your number?"

 

She shrugs. "Too much trouble to go through and memorize a new one. Just renewed what I could, luckily it was still available."

 

There's nothing more to her answer, do he nods and turns to the sea, both arms resting on the edge with a bottle of beer. "I'm glad I decided to call you. Had I not, we would not be join this position."

 

"Yeah, I know," she huffs, taking a bite out of her cookie. "You remembered."

 

"Remembered what?"

 

"Favourite cookie...drink." She bites her lower lip. "Why?"

 

He chuckles, brushing it off. "I remember plenty of things, love."

 

"Normal things, sure. But things about a friend you found after twelve years?"

 

"Things about my best friend, Swan, things I vowed I would never forget about in case you'd ever return or if I'd find you. Besides, such information was not difficult to memorize. I did spend many years with you."

 

"You're weird," she mumbles.

 

He feigns offense to that. "Glad I have induced such a wonderful impression."

 

"I missed this," she says, her voice quiet while her eyes wander. "I missed us, too. I'm glad I have you guys back."

 

"I can't speak for everyone, but -" he turns to face her, "- I missed us quite a bit, too."

 

"Good."

 

Afternoon soon bleeds into evening, and then he's teaching Emma how to steer the helm, his arms at each side, holding onto her arms while she gets them to port. She's a natural, they discover. This bodily contact though, it's _close_ and he wishes it'd mean more. He's a man with desires, he can only control himself so much with her back and arse pressed to his own crotch and chest.

 

He'd be lying if he said he doesn't want to release the tension in his pants, right now.

 

There's still a way to land, and he keeps himself stable and strong around her, being a frame. He has to clench his jaw and suppress the urge of thinking about taking her on places he shouldn't. He wants to take her to the Captain's Cabin, he wants to take her against the _helm_ , on the deck, perhaps even in the water against the Jolly.

 

Shuddering, he sighs softly at his wants, attempting to focus on getting the ship parked perfectly so they can handle the gangplank. But the breeze is getting cooler and Emma's only in a tank and shorts, so she leans back into him subtly, which he notices, and grinds a little against his groin, which of course, wants to turn into an erection by this point. He nearly growls, managing to stay silent. But he tightens his grip a little bit on her arms.

 

"Emma," he murmurs, "what are you thinking, love?"

 

"Nothing."

 

"Not much of a liar, are you? We have an audience, Swan, and as much as I could take you, that's not the proper thing to do. We've been friends and never gone past that. Friends don't _fuck_ each other."

 

She laughs quietly. "Friends with benefits do," she teases. "But, I know," she eventually says, "I just...today has been fun. And you decided on this, you remember my favourite stuff, you drive to visit me in Boston and call me when you get home."

 

He sobers up, turning the helm to the left just slightly. "Perhaps one day, love. Perhaps one day we can be more."

 

And it feels horrible to deny her at the moment, but the alcohol in him has settled down and the Jolly is docked properly, Liam pushing the gangplank onto land.

 

Emma sighs turning to face him. "You promise?"

 

He gulps. "I promise."

 

By one day, he means _this_ day, when he escorts her back to Granny's. When she pulls him inside and he willingly goes (he can only be patient for so long), when he pushes her up against the door, her back making a dull thud from the contact. He's resisted for too long.

 

Clothes are discarded quickly, his lips never leaving her skin, _cherishing_ this woman he loves. But she doesn't know that. He knows, also, this isn't just sex. He wants to make love to her, he wants to burn this bridge and _show_ her he cares about her. It's a dream, making her squirm and writhe beneath him, when he teases her and she gets impatient, telling him to _hurry the fuck up, Killian_. He trails kisses everywhere, nips at the sensitive spots he finds, whispers in her ear of all the things he'll do to her before she's hot and wanting beneath him.

 

It doesn't take long before she starts to tease him, her hand finding his aching member, her fingers gently wrapping around him. His head falls back with a groan escaping him, and then her lips, her soft lips are wrapped around him, and her tongue does _wonders_. Emma Swan is a bloody marvel. He feels like he's at his high before she stops, only licking a stripe at the underside of his cock to taunt him. Letting out a shaky breath, he falls forward to find her lips with his, biting at her upper lip, his fingers teasing her folds.

 

And she's already wet and ready. "Condom?" he rasps out.

 

"I'm on the pill. No need."

 

On any other circumstance, he'd be concerned, but he's waited for too long and he can't back out now. "As you wish," he whispers, hitching her leg over his side, closely easing himself in. And her moan echoes in the quiet room, matching with the sounds of skin. It's beautiful, watching her break down like this, become open to him.

 

One of his hands wrap around to knead at her breasts, to play with the swollen nubs. His other roams her body while he sets a pace, at least, until she begs for him to go faster. By then, he follows her demands, increasing the pace and shifting his angle a little bit, hitting the spot that makes her moan the loudest, the sound coming from the back of her throat from pleasure. He now knows everything about her now, every sweet spot, every sound, every skill of hers.

 

They've skipped all the traditional steps of dating, and perhaps he’ll regret it later, but this is the best session he's had in forever.

 

" _Fuck_ , Kill -"

 

Her orgasm hits just then, and he follows a few solid thrusts after (the flutter of her walls, mainly), stilling inside of her before he gently pulls out, causing her to whimper at the loss.

 

"Sorry, love," he murmurs.

 

"I love you," she blurts out.

 

At that surprise, he widens his eyes at Emma, and all he finds is her sheepish, yet sincere expression. "Do you now?"

 

"Yes," she responds quietly. "I didn't know what love was back then, as a kid, but if what I'm feeling now after this mind blowing sex means anything, it feels like love. And if it is, then it's right."

 

"Emma," he whispers, cupping her face in his hands, "I've loved you since I was a skinny, nerdy adolescent at sixteen."

 

"You never told me. If you did, I would have come back as soon as I could."

 

"I was bloody terrified of saying it. I didn't know if you even loved me or had feelings for me back then." He sighs, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. "If I'd known, I would have said it. Besides, would it have stopped you from fancying that Graham fellow if I'd told you?"

 

"Probably, yes," she murmurs, leaning into his touch. "I probably wouldn't even had gone to New York if I knew."

 

"Sorry it took so long then, Swan," he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I love you, too, if that wasn't obvious enough."

 

She's soon asleep after they clean up, exhausted from a day of sailing and more pleasurable events. He yawns quietly, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her against his chest, breathing in her shampoo, her soft skin beneath his fingers.

 

When morning rises, he cracks an eye open and finds that she's still in the same position as he last left it then previous night - pressed against his chest, arm draped over her middle. He manages a lazy smile before kissing her bare shoulder softly, which causes her to stir a little, but she only shifts around slightly.

 

He gets to face a new day _with_ her. Whatever possessed him to call that number that evening, he'll never forget about finding the old number in the back of his closet, tucked in a box of old childhood memories, and an answer from her angelic voice.

 

"Move here to Storybrooke," he says during breakfast downstairs.

 

"Move here to Storybrooke, or move in with _you_?"

 

"As long as I have your company, either will work. No more bloody phone calls or two hour drives, love. And perhaps _other_ things can be arranged on the ship as well."

 

He notices her swallow.

 

"My lease is up in a week. Wait for me?"

 

"I've been waiting for twelve years." He grins. "A week is nothing."

 


	59. see you in my dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8\. the one where you can straight up talk to them in dreams until/after you find them soulmate AU.
> 
> [this song might be helpful.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Llhi8Ydoymw)

It starts when she’s five.

 

She dreams of a boy a few years older than her, smarter, taller, blue eyes, and messy dark hair. When she talks to him, she learns his name is _Killian Jones_.

 

.~.

 

It starts when he’s eight.

 

He dreams of a girl a few years younger than her, shorter, stubborn, green eyes, and golden blonde hair. When he talks to her, he learns her name is _Emma Swan_.

 

.~.

 

She never knows _why_ she’s able to dream and be able to talk to him. Some days, she’s able to fit in time to just talk to him about nothing in particular; maybe homework, how school was, even how it’s like to have an older brother. She is jealous, small and jealous because he can have all these better moments than her, and of course, Emma being young, spews this stuff out to him.

 

He has that toothy smile on his face, shaking his head. “You can find a family!”

 

Of course, gullible and naive, she believes him. But the moment she gets switched to another family, she knows the ball has dropped and that family is a hard concept.

 

Some of her foster families are nice, but then they have their own child or they can no longer handle too many children or even _one_ , so she gets sent back. Being the youngest means being the hardest to take care of, she learns. That’s how it works.

 

Any hours of sleep she can muster up and talk to Killian, she does. It’s nice.

 

He makes her laugh and smile unlike many others, he annoys her and pushes on and can be as stubborn as herself, but he’s definitely more lenient. There’s something about him, that perhaps, even if he’s a figment of her imagination, she wants to hold on to. He is a reminder that there are nice people in the world, that she _can_ make friends if she tries.

 

It’s just that she never has the _chance_ to or never has the time. But, Killian is constant, she can move to an entirely new state or city, and he stays with her in her dreams.

 

.~.

 

He asks Liam about foster systems and families, and he answers, explaining that it’s for people that have no family, no parents or siblings. Killian aches for her, hopes that she will find a family, and until then, he wishes to slowly become family to her. They are children, he knows that, but they’re already friends.

 

He tells her she can find family, that all she needs is to hope. And even with missing parents himself, Liam is enough for family. (He is too young to understand.)

 

No matter what, he always tries to go to bed at the same time in hopes he will dream of Emma again. Sometimes, he’ll tell her stories from school to make her laugh and smile. He may be eight years old, but he knows that watching her smile and laugh is better than anything else, that he can turn her frown around and make her _happy_. Killian knows that’s hard for her, always being caught up in going from place to place or from having a frustrating day at school.

 

Of course, he wonders if she’s fake, if she’s just someone there to keep him company when he’s lonely, but for some reason, it feels too _real_ for him to think it’s superstition.

 

.~.

 

When she’s ten and he’s thirteen, they’ve been dreaming and talking to each other for five years.

 

It’s the same every night.

 

They figure out together that they begin to fully see each other more clearly, that the more years spent together with talking to each other in their dreams, the more vivid and real they come to look. It’s no longer a ghost or translucent.

 

She can dream of a park, and they’ll be in a park.

 

“This is cool,” she says with amazement, laying on the grass and staring up at the night sky. “Are we the only ones who can do this?”

 

“No,” Killian responds quietly next to her. “Liam says he has it too, say he has them with a woman named Elsa. Something about soulmates.”

 

“So there’s _soulmates_ in this world?”

 

Killian huffs, “Aye. But he did tell me he didn’t get his until a couple weeks ago. We’ve had it for years.”

 

“Whatever,” she sighs, “we’re friends, right?”

 

“Yeah. I’d say best friends,” he responds, smiling.

 

She grins, wishing she could touch him - high fives, hugging, all that stuff. “Definitely.” But they can’t touch; it’s not possible. They’ve _tried_ , but when either of them try to touch, it still feels like a ghost, their fingers passing right through each other’s bodies, only left with a bit of disappointment.

 

But at least, at the moment, it doesn’t feel like she’s talking to his ghost or something. He doesn’t feel imaginary, he’s real. He lives in a town called Storybrooke in Maine, but she’s up in Boston, New York, sometimes Portland. But it never gets closer than that.

 

“So, how was school for you?”

 

“Boring,” he mutters. “I mean, besides being on the swim team and guitar classes, there’s really nothing interesting. How about you?”

 

“The same as always.” She sighs. “Killian, do you think we’ll ever meet?”

 

“Swan,” he begins, “that is an absurd question. Of course we’ll meet. We _have_ to meet each other, I mean, what good would these dreams be if we never did?”

 

“True.”

 

That’s when her consciousness starts to take over again, when everything starts to fade and she frowns. He smiles, though, promising they can talk again later.

 

Before she knows it, she’s back in _reality_ , the life where her foster parents are out either drinking or working, one of the bad families. The one where they don’t care about her at all, the one that lets her roam free or stay in the house if she desires to. The freedom can be nice, but she’s got no where to go in the first place, she doesn’t have much money to run away with, there’s no possibility out there for her - well, maybe that’s a lie.

 

Killian is out there.

 

.~.

 

Then she’s twelve and he’s fifteen, she has the worst family yet, the one that hurts her, leaving her in bed, too scared to leave her room.

 

Of course, she never thought it could get any worse, but fate apparently has something else in planned for her by this point. Emma feels lonely too often, the only part of her day which she looks forward to is the time for sleep because Killian makes her feel wanted.

 

The bruises on her skin ache and burn when she flips back in forth in bed. (And for god’s sake, of course it’s in places not visible to the eye, only to be covered by clothes.)

 

It’s dark in her dream this time around.

 

“Emma? Why is it so dark?”

 

Well, it’s because her mind is in a dark place this time around, that’s why. And apparently, being the late one to enter the dream world allows that person to dream of their surroundings. So, yes, they are practically in a legitimate void.

 

Most of the times, she’d be happy to talk to him, but tonight, she’d rather stay silent.

 

“Sorry,” she murmurs.

 

They’re both sources of light, bright enough to see each other in the dark space of her imagination.

 

“Is there something wrong, Swan?” he asks, reaching out for her. She almost wants to flinch away from him, but his hand moves right through her, disappointment and concern on his face. “Emma?”

 

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” she responds in a firm tone, brushing the day’s earlier events off. “A bad day, is all.”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

She sighs. “I will be.”

 

.~.

 

She’s sixteen when she runs, runs _far_ away from all the foster business and nonsense. The false promises and lies she’s been told several times around. Killian turns twenty on this night while she’s out in motel room after she picked the lock on the window and climbed into the empty and abandoned space, taking refuge in the bed temporarily. He’s in college now, studying Marine Engineering, with intentions to help his brother with their business on Storybrooke’s harbor when he graduates.

 

When the clock hits midnight, she dreams.

 

“Happy birthday, Killian.”

 

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up, lass,” he says with a smile, beaming at her with such happiness.

 

And they can touch now, the can make contact and _feel_ each other. So really, it was just a matter of time of unlocking all the levels like a videogame. Which is pretty fucking cool.

 

Today, he deserves it, so she hugs him tight.

 

They can see, feel, and touch, but they cannot taste or smell. Which isn’t surprising of course, it’s a _dream_ , what can she taste and smell in this dream world?

 

“Thank you, Swan,” he murmurs. “Where are you at right now?”

 

“Some motel.”

 

“I reckon you broke into it, didn’t you?” When she nods, he sighs. “That’s not safe at all, love. You could get caught.”

 

Shrugging coolly, she sits down on the bench in the little park they brought up this time around, crossing her legs onto the imaginary wooden seat. “I’ve got nothing better, unless you want me to sleep next to the garbage in some dark alley. If I had money, I’d use it for shelter. But I need it for food instead.”

 

“If you come to Storybrooke, I can have my brother help you.”

 

“It’s too far, I wouldn’t have the money to take a bus down there.”

 

There’s a pregnant silence before he wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll be back there in three years,” he says quietly, lines etched between his eyebrows. “If...if you can get through three more years, _safely_ , I can come find you.”

 

“Do you promise?” she murmurs, leaning into his side.

 

“I promise.”

 

And she believes.

 

.~.

 

By the end of his graduating year, he learns that things do not go to plan. A majority of his time has been planning about him driving and finding her and bringing her with him to Storybrooke, but in the dreams he gets every night, he learns that there’s a bit of a wrench in his plan.

 

“I’m in jail,” she grumbles.

 

His jaw drops a little. “You’re _what_?”

 

“In jail.”

 

“Emma,” he sighs, “I thought I told you to stay _safe_.”

 

“I was!” she shouts, rubbing her face. There are tears now, not a lot, but a little pooling at the edge of her eyes and he can see them. “I was. But I fucked up, Killian. I trusted someone and that led to me being thrown in prison.”

 

“Emma, calm down,” he says, hushing her quietly. “Be obedient there, love, do your best. When you’re out, I’ll come get you.”

 

“ _Why_?” she questions.

 

“Because I care for you,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around her, enveloping her in an embrace. “Not because you’re just my soulmate, but because you transitioned from a stranger to a best friend, to my family. Swan, I’ll be damned if I let you live a life of felony any longer. You deserve far better. I’ll bring you here to Storybrooke, you can live with me, I’ll have everything we need by then.”

 

.~.

 

It’s like being there but not being there at the same time.

 

It’s like seeing her and not seeing her at the same time.

 

In a few months time, he’d been able to secure a nice house by the sea with two bedrooms and washrooms, a spacious enough kitchen, dining room, and living room. All the apartments are too tiny, not large enough.

 

And then when he first sees her, her actual blonde hair, her green eyes which light up, she runs up and hugs him and he doesn’t want to let go of her.

 

(He doesn’t.)

 

.~.

 

There’s something about introducing her to everyone. To explain that Emma is his _soulmate_.

 

And at first, he’s lying when he says he doesn’t have feelings for her. From children to adults (through bloody _dreams_ ), he’s grown to love her deeply for who she is, despite the bad bits of her past. He knows she could have made better choices, but he also knows it would have still been miserable for her.

 

It takes her awhile to settle in.

 

And it’s a _bit_ weird. They still have dreams, even though they’re a bedroom apart.

 

But then she takes the Deputy position at the station with David, and she doesn’t sleep as early as he does after working at the docks. She’ll be out on patrol, even though Storybrooke isn’t known for any big crimes.

 

They can spend an entire day together on a weekend and still go to bed with dreams of talking to each other directly.

 

But then they begin to spend more time together. He takes her out sailing some days. He’ll spend late nights keeping her company while on her round for her patrol shift. He’ll cook dinner or breakfast and he’ll bake with her during the late nights she can’t sleep. They grow and grow even closer now that they have each other in real life. Routine becomes their normal, and soon enough, he knows he can’t be sitting around all too patient anymore.

 

He is usually patient, a simple gentleman all thanks to the teachings of Liam, but sometimes, he’ll need to fight for it.

 

Killian never discusses his feelings toward her in their dreams. But now their dreams now are usually composed of silence, of him being next to her on the grassy plains, looking up a starry sky. It’s a comfortable silence though, time spent together to compensate for when they’re not together. It reminds him of the earlier days they spent in the exact same situation, except now he can tuck her to his side, can have her head on his chest and his arm wrapped around her waist.

 

By morning when one of them wakes up and leaves first, the other comes second. He’s usually the first to wake, occupying the washroom quickly before going to brew some coffee and cook up breakfast. Then comes Emma, strolling in with her flannel pajama pants, a white tank-top, freshly out from the shower with a smile on her face.

 

He realizes they never talk about their dreams aloud.

 

It’s like they keep dreams to dreams and real life to real life.

 

It goes on like this for years.

 

.~.

 

She’s twenty-seven now.

 

She also has _very_ obvious feelings for Killian, and she’s been holding it in for too long by this point. Emma is sure he’s been trying to show her his way of affection, trying to ease her into talking about her feelings, but even with talking to him for over twenty years, she’s still horrible with words.

 

“You know, you’re essentially dating him but not dating him,” David says, dropping Granny’s takeout on her desk.

 

“I’ve noticed.”

 

“You live together.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “I _know_.”

 

“You _dream_ with each other.”

 

“Yes, David, I’m very aware we dream together, that’s the point of _soulmates_ logic,” she grumbles, reaching in for her grilled cheese. “And you dream of Mary Margaret.”

 

He laughs, leaning against the frame of the door to her office. “True, _but_ we’re married already with a child. You and Killian would make a good couple, you know. The chemistry has been there since you came here. He hardly leaves your side when we have a party and he takes you sailing? Come on, Emma.”

 

“I was planning on telling him tonight, actually.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah,” she huffs, setting her grilled cheese down and taking a sip from her water. “I mean, it’s been like seven years since we’ve met. I know I’ve been bailing out a lot.”

 

“Good luck, not that you’ll need it. I’m sure he’ll respond well.”

 

.~.

 

“You _still_ haven’t told her,” Liam states bluntly, not even questioning his younger brother.

 

“Not as easy as it seems, brother,” Killian grumbles, running a hand through his hair. “I want to, but I’m not sure how she’ll go about it.”

 

“Just say it. What’s the worst that can happen - she’ll avoid you for two weeks?”

 

He groans. “Alright, I will.”

 

.~.

 

She’s got her head on his lap as a pillow on the couch, both of their eyes stuck on the TV screen. But she’s not remotely thinking about what’s on the screen, but about how she’s supposed to come forth with her feelings to him. She loves him, she _really_ does, but there’s something in her which keeps pulling her back at the moment from saying it.

 

Like saying it, admitting it to his face, will make it all more real and change things.

 

She wants to confess, right now, while his fingers comb through her hair, massaging her scalp gently. Emma wants to say she loves him, right now. But she doesn’t.

 

She doesn’t dream this time, doesn’t sleep because she _can’t_ sleep. She knows if she sleeps and dreams, connecting their minds together, she’ll just feel more pressure on her shoulders, pushing her to tell him by this point.

 

So, she bakes, as usual. Killian comes out from his room, padding down the quiet hallway and toward the kitchen. He helps her like normal. (She enjoys baking, but she _sucks_ at cooking.)

 

By the time she’s put the cupcakes into the oven, he’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. Emma’s simply exhausted and drops her forehead against his shoulder, his arms soon falling to snake around her.

 

“I love you,” she finally says, quietly. Surprisingly, the words come out rather easily.

 

“Emma?”

 

“I love you,” she repeats a little louder, even if her body is protesting against her, needing the sleep. “I know it.”

 

He sighs, tightening his arms around her and pressing a kiss into her hair. “I love you as well, Emma. Very much.”

 

She’s asleep by the time he drags her to bed with him, tucking her in.

 

In the morning, she finds Killian is next to her, his arm thrown over her waist and his breath against her neck. She remembers finally telling him she loves him, _twice_ , and him saying it back to her in a gentle voice. She was so exhausted, she didn’t end up dreaming or talking to him in her sleep. (She’d like to complain about that.)

 

“Mmm, Swan, go check the kitchen, there’s a surprise for you,” he murmurs, his accent thicker than ever, pressing a kiss to her head.

 

Lazily climbing out of bed, rubbing her eyes, she finds the cupcakes from last night covered with plastic wrap on a plate and a card set in front of it on the kitchen counter.

 

**_Happy Birthday, my love._ **

 

**_I would write some elaborate message here, but you already know I love you, dearly and truly. All I hope is that you’ll have a wonderful birthday._ **

 

**_PS. I know you do not like to celebrate, but I didn’t want to put this card to waste since I’ve bought it - you know, Storybrooke has very little options on gift shopping._ **

 

She laughs and she feels arms wrap around her waist to cage her in. “Happy birthday, Emma,” he murmurs. “I wager that you like it?”

 

“Yeah.” She sighs of contentment and turns around, wrapping her own arms around his torso and pressing her cheek to his chest, right over his heart. “Thank you, Killian,” she whispers, enjoying the quiet moment.

 

Killian says something, probably whispering words of love that have been too long ignored and unsaid. “Now, how about I make my soulmate, who is conveniently my love, a big birthday breakfast?”

 

She laughs, pushing him against the counter, leaning up to brush her lips across his, _finally_. She can feel him grin, but he refuses to let go of her when she tries to pull back.

 

“Bloody hell, Swan, I’d like to kiss you some more. Consider this present number _two_.” He smirks and brings his hands up to cup her cheeks, capturing her lips once more in a more heated kiss. It seems like he’s more awake now.

 

But honestly, she doesn’t give a care in the world about him not letting her go. She doesn’t want him to let her go.

 

“Sounds good,” she whispers when she pulls away a little, a smile on her face while she catches her breath.

 

(Safe to say breakfast becomes lunch.)

 


	60. i want to hold your hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12\. I’m fucking terrified of plane rides and this is a twelve hour flight, hey can I hold your hand thanks AU

Being over 30,000 feet in the air for 12 hours in 4 days time is not the ideal flight for Emma Swan.

 

What bothers her is that her lack of experience with transportation by flying and a fear from the first time she flew, which left her a little less than _okay_ by the time she was back home in Storybrooke.

 

The first time it was just a 6 hour flight from San Francisco to Boston, but the plane hit a rough air patch that nearly sent her over the edge. Ever since that experience, she's been dodgy and avoiding flights ever since. But, because Storybrooke's harbour is getting an upgrade from one of the most well-known tourist ship companies in Ireland, she'd been assigned to travel there and back. Which is a complete 12 hour flight. 6 there and 6 back, which, of course, she'd been extremely unenthusiastic about it the entire time.

 

Flying there, she managed to stay calm the entire 6 hours, but even after introducing herself to Killian Jones, their new harbour master, she'd been less than happy to have to fly back two days later after everything's been officially sorted.

 

With him.

 

And now that things have been sorted, she's now sitting next to the cocky, smart, but kind individual of Killian Jones. She hasn't opted to telling him her fear of flying, but she's sure he'll figure it out within seconds of liftoff. Turbulence _sucks_.

 

"Please, Swan, you've been fidgety the entire way to the airport and now, what's bothering you?" he asks so suddenly, a raised eyebrow indicating his curiosity.

 

"Planes. Flights. _Hate_ them," she grumbles, barely forming a proper sentence to explain her dislike for flying. The look of amusement on his face has her scowling, ignoring his stupid, perfect, attractive face.

 

“Hate is a strong word.” He sighs. "Perhaps gripping onto the armrest is not going to solve your fear of flying, or make it any easier."

 

Glancing, she hasn't even realized she's been gripping the armrests. It doesn't mean she's going to stop. She inbhals a deep breath and let's her head drop back onto the seat. "Whatever," she mutters, not bitterly, just the _can we get this over with already_ tone..”

 

She scoffs, knowing that it’s not going to solve her issues. “Oh yes, well there’s no other substitute. What do you want me to do - hold your hand?”

 

“Certainly wouldn’t be that horrible of a substitute, would it, love?”

 

Glaring at him, she sucks in a deep breath, noticing him offering his hand to her which is quite tempting, to be honest. Emma, well, she gives into the temptation and takes his hand, warm and firm, calloused palms from being so actively busy with ships and boats. The smug grin as he interlaces his fingers with hers and tugs their joined hands onto his lap does soothe her a bit, despite how much she despises him and his stupid behaviour.

 

Though, as Emma Swan is aware of, this is only a façade of his. All the flirtatious remarks and snarky jokes covers his softer side, a side she’s seen a limited amount of times, a flash, really, before it’d be gone and buried away for the rest of the day. She only knows this because she has her own defense system with walls and avoiding topics, lying and pretending and running away when she realizes she’s been pinned to the corner.

 

“Better?” he asks, his thumb rubbing her hand with the same pattern, smiling softly at her.

 

This is Killian Jones, the one beneath the mask. If he can do it, so can she. “Yeah, thanks,” she murmurs, returning a smile.

 

.~.

 

They spend the ride talking quietly, exchanging more personal details. Should she be concerned about the fact she just relayed her some of her past to him? Probably, but the way she sees the flash of emotions go through him, anger, sympathy, then anger again, she knows if Neal ever came back, Killian would punch him in the face and tell him to bugger off, as he’d say it.

 

She only tells him about Neal. Not the other two failed relationships. Not the way Graham had some random cardiac aneurysm despite his perfectly healthy state, or the failure of Walsh and his pathetic lies. That’s too much to share.

 

At least she finds herself laughing more with him, finds him entertaining her with stories about his childhood with Liam and such.

 

And the entire time, he’s still holding her hand.

 

And she doesn’t let go.

 

.~.

 

Some point through the six hours, she’d fallen asleep, only to wake up and realize she used his shoulder as a pillow.

 

“Relax, Swan, I’m more than happy to offer my services as your human pillow.”

 

She rolls her eyes at him. “How much longer?”

 

“Approximately twenty more precious minutes before we land.” He stretched his neck back and forth before turning to her. “Wasn’t so deadly of an experience was it?”

 

“Right.”

 

“I assume you’re probably never going to want to get on a plane again.” He chuckles, giving her hand a squeeze.

 

“Probably.”

 

“One worded answers, love, where’s your ability to speak more coherent sentences gone?”

 

“Tired,” she mutters, rubbing her eyes with her free hand. After a solid three hours of sleep, she’s still exhausted, her bones weary and her mind functioning partially, but they’re about to land and get a ride back to Storybrooke, so that’s what she’s focusing on.

 

Not how he continues to hold her hand. Not how he quirks his eyebrow, or scratches behind his ear. Not how he licks his lips and grins at her when he bests her with another one of his damn jokes, or when she loses her part in the banter they hold. (Okay, maybe all of the above.)

 

She dozes off for another ten minutes before he’s shaking her awake. “Up and at ‘em, Swan.”

 

But then she loses track of time and they’re strolling through the airport, hand in hand.

 

“Wouldn’t want to lose you, darling.” He grins and pulls her through the crowd, finding their suitcases and heading toward the pickup zone where David is waiting for them.

 

She manages to wrench her hand out of his for one minute to shoot a text.

 

Emma: We’re on our way.

 

David: Alright.

 

Of course David’s face is pure confusion when he catches sight of them.

 

“Got something to tell me?” he asks quietly, letting Killian put his suitcase in the trunk of the car.

 

“Nope. Nothing,” she responds, brushing off his question.

 

.~.

 

She’s asleep in the back seat of the car, Killian sitting up front next to David and maintaining a quiet conversation.

 

“Why were you holding hands?”

 

“She was bloody terrified of plane rides,” he tells him nonchalantly, shrugging. “Also didn’t want to lose her in the afternoon crowd.”

 

David looks over at him and nods curtly, turning back to watch the road. “Any other intentions?”

 

“I won’t lie - I do like her and would like to get to know her more. She’s a spitfire, that one.” He chuckles softly, being considerate of her sleeping in the back seat. “Too stubborn for her own good, too, I believe. Many walls up.”

 

“Yeah, well, if you knew what she went through, you’d know why.” David sighs, looking out his side of the window at all the cars he’s passing.

 

“Bad breakup in her previous relationship - she said.”

 

He almost laughs jokingly, shaking his head and sighing in a sad manner. “That’s not even the part that hurts, but it’s not my story to tell. If you can break down her walls and she can let you in, she’ll tell you. Not a pleasant story to listen to, makes you want to go after those that broke her heart.”

 

“So more than one bloke who hurt her. I know much on this Neal fellow, but not the others.” He only spits his name out in disgust.

 

David nods. “I can give you that much. But break her heart and I kick you and your ships out of Storybrooke.”

 

“Wouldn’t want to hurt her for the world, mate.”

 

.~.

 

“You told him I’m terrified of plane rides that day?” she practically screeches. “There’s a reason I never told him!”

 

“Aye, but -”

 

“Yet he still wants me to go with you,” she interrupts.

 

“Swan -”

 

“Oh my god, just shut up,” she mutters, letting her head drop onto his chest.

 

“You don’t have to go, love, it’s not mandatory of your attendance at all,” he murmurs, wrapping his arm around her and rubbing up and down. “He just...thinks you need a break from Storybrooke, to enjoy a bit of the world outside of this quaint town. Though I wouldn’t be opposed if you want to come along since my brother does want to meet the woman I’m enamored with.”

 

Of course she’d like to meet his brother, Killian’s only spoken of good thing about him, but she does not want to endure another 6 hours there, and another 6 back.

 

She sighs. “Fine. I’ll go for you.”

 

“I’ll hold your hand the entire way, Emma.”

 

By this point, she can’t help but smile.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Beatles song title, I know.


	61. best chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 14\. being reunited after surviving the zombie apocalypse unknowing if the other was alive or dead AU.

It’s...been weeks since he last saw her.

 

(If you want days, it’s been precisely over 39 days.)

 

It’s his fault, his bloody fucking fault for following her orders and escaping, for him to run off instead of _save_ her. Whether she’s dead or alive, he doesn’t know, he misses her. God, he should have never let her damn voice persuade him, he should’ve looked her in the eyes and told her _no_. But he ran, he ran in the hopes that her _“Go! I’ll be right behind you!”_ meant she would actually be right behind her. He didn’t know he’d be left with a necklace she’d entrusted him with, two pistols, and a hatchet as the only things he’d have with him by the time he’d looked back.

 

And damn, he _wanted_ to go back and find her, but it was too late.

 

He misses her.

 

He misses her because the last glance he got of her was her pleading eyes for him to _survive_ , for him to get the fuck out of there.

 

“God damn it, Swan,” he hisses quietly, rubbing a hand over his face, flipping back and forth in the bed he’d been able to find in an old, yet patched up house. “Please tell me you’re still out there.”

 

Killian has tried many times to sleep, but every time he closes his eyes, it’s the exact same nightmare coming back to haunt him. He’s just glad enough that his Navy training has helped him get through the days without needing too much rest, even though that’d significantly improve his survival rate.

 

_They’d been searching for a safe haven to retire to for hours, only to be rewarded with a emptied, broken down car, and their own weary bones._

 

_“Fuck,” she mutters, “we’ve got company.”_

 

_It first starts with two men who threaten them, which of course, they take down easily with both of their on spot aiming with the decent cover of the cars metallic exterior. Her being a previous police officer and him being a previous navy lieutenant gave them both enough training to hit bulls eye without much of a struggle. But neither of them can silence their shots on such a clear day, which means the walkers get attracted._

 

_“They’re coming from your right, four o’clock, Killian,” she states._

 

 _“Bloody hell, that’s a huge wave of them.” He readies his pistols, making sure they’re loaded with ammo (which_ that _at least they have plenty of surprisingly), keeping it at arm's length, pointing at the zombies slowly dragging along. “Should we run?”_

 

_“No.”_

 

_“Swan -”_

 

_“They’ll follow - we’re low on food, we can’t make it that far without them getting to us again. Loot those two bodies for any ammo or weapons, now,” she demands strictly, hew jaw firm._

 

_He sighs and does as he’s told, quickly confirming their deaths (good headshots, he can at least say), finding a hatchet and dagger, two canteens of fresh (well, fresher) water, three cans of food, and a rifle._

 

_“Killian, hurry the hell up!”_

 

_Quickly, he puts all the food into his bag and replaces one of his pistols with a hatchet in hand before snapping his head up to see her shooting down the closest approaching ones. “Sorry, love,” he grumbles, getting to her side (damn melee weapons considerably slows him down a bit), handing her the dagger and bringing his hand in pistol up, clenching his jaw and aiming._

 

_It goes on for a few more moments, circumstances not improving._

 

_“Go,” she eventually huffs, “run.”_

 

_“Emma,” he begs, “I can’t leave you.”_

 

_“You have to. Please. I’ll hold them off and follow.”_

 

_“Swan -”_

 

_She cuts him off with a quick kiss, too fast and desperate. “Go! I’ll be right behind you!”_

 

 _So with one final look at the woman he’s grown to love, he purses his lips, closes his eyes, trying to just...just fucking_ memorize _her every bit, and runs._

 

_He hates himself the moment he realizes she’s not behind him._

 

With a sigh, he rolls around in the bed, staring at the tiny crack of light streaming in from the boarded window. It’s like that’s all the hope that’s remaining which he can hold onto, this thread, that Emma is alive and out there, that he will find her and get to hold her, kiss her, be _with_ her by her side again. In the end, really, he just wants her.

 

That’s why he’s still alive. Every breath he’s taken is for her.

 

He could very much give up, be killed by competing survivors, but he knows that she must be still alive. His Swan is a survivor like him. He trusts her instincts and her abilities any day.

 

He knows, however, he'll never like himself for abandoning her. That he's always going to harbour a solid amount of guilt over what happened, whether she's alive or not. (Hoping for the former.)

 

The zombies and infection has passed now from the results of intense militia actions, but it has not stopped the battle of survival from the desperate measures other humans take in order to survive. Civilization is no longer an easy possibility to redevelop, cities destroyed, highways completely obliterated, lives and families broken up. It's an unfortunate thought to fall asleep to.

 

There's nothing good to wake up to in the morning after cramming in three hours of sleep, only to hear something or _someone_ banging at the front door. He swallows before climbing off the old bed, grabbing his pistol and taking quiet steps around the house vigilantly. It's silence now, almost eerie and much like a blasted horror film, suspense and anxiety mixed together, a splash of worry, too.

 

He catches a flash of blonde, blinking furiously before licking his lips, raising his pistol up and watching all the corners. The floorboards are surprisingly non-creaky. He doesn't dare hope that the sight he caught is Emma. But then he wants it to be her, he wants to hold her closely and apologize endlessly for leaving her that day, to kiss her and hold her hand, and do everything a normal couple can possibly do, despite it being the end of zombie apocalypse.

 

Rounding one last corridor into the kitchen, he's faced with a pistol to his face.

 

That is, until his gun and hers, too, drops with a clatter to the cracked tile floor.

 

"Emma," he nearly shouts, running up and wrapping his arms around her.

 

"Killian, oh my god," she murmurs, her hands firmly placed at his back.

 

He can't help but just hold her there, breathing her in, knowing she's now _alive_. "I'm sorry, so sorry, love, for leaving you back there. I shouldn't have," he quickly apologizes, one hand coming up to cup the back of her neck. "Next time you tell me to run, I don't think I'll be taking orders from you."

 

"It's fine, it's...fine, really, I just...you're _alive_ ," she practically breathes, stumbling on words, leaning her forehead against his. "I found...some others, out there. They're guarding outside."

 

"Let me have this moment."

 

Then he's got his mouth on hers, sucking her upper lip so desperately, all this pent up longing for her finally being poured out into this one kiss, the one where he pushes her back against the counter, a small bang from the drawer getting shut. His hands trailing smoothly down her sides, clothes ripped, leather jacket worn, before settling at her hips. He can't stop kissing her, can't stop having this _urge_ to make it all up to her.

 

He begs for entrance with his tongue, and she gladly complies. He inhales a sharp breath when she playfully nips at his lower lip, making him groan, a noise ripping out from the back of his throat.

 

"Killian," he murmurs between their kisses, "later. I - we need to get you introduced."

 

"Gods," he huffs, "apologies. I've just regretted every moment of the day since I left you, I just wanted a moment to ourselves."

 

"No, don't ever apologize for kissing me," she says quietly, her hands cupping his cheeks. "We're both selfish and greedy for this, but this isn't the right time just yet. We have a lost kid and another couple, let's go. We can celebrate later."

 

He grabs his bag from the bedroom and heads back, Emma smiling and handing his pistol to him which he shoves into his holster. He's missed her smile. Despite the grime on her cheek, he kisses it anyways and follows behind her, watching her greet the others. She wasn't lying about a lost child and another couple.

 

"This is Killian Jones."

 

He talks to the couple, David and Mary Margaret Nolan, a protective, strong pair, before he settles in front of the young boy, no older than twelve, whose name is Henry Mills.

 

"We've been trying to get to Storybrooke," Emma explains, taking a seat next to him later that night on the porch steps, everyone else fast asleep in the house. "Kid says his mom is there. Least we could do is check."

 

"He's young," he murmurs, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Too young of a lad to experience any of this broken, ruined world with only remains of humanity left."

 

There's no doubt she must've taken Henry in immediately, he knows she would want to do everything to get him back to his family. She's been alone for too long, since a baby, to know how it feels. Killian knows she wouldn't want him to be so alone, wouldn't want him to go through what she's felt. That is one of the many reasons of why he loves her; how she makes space in her heart to care for another being that's not so lucky.

 

"I know." She sighs, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'm tired."

 

"Sleep, my love," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her hair. "I'll keep watch - the boy needs someone to keep him company while he sleeps. You're fit for that."

 

"I can't leave you on patrol alone either, David and Mary Margaret can watch him."

 

It stops there, for awhile, only the sound of the breeze and their breathing over the silence.

 

"I thought...you might've died," he mumbles eventually, his grip on her shoulder tightening just the slightest bit before he relaxes, feeling her lips against his neck. "I worried for weeks, Swan, hoping I'd run into you by chance. You were my only light, once you were gone, I lost my own direction. Didn't know what the bloody hell to do."

 

She sighs, resting one of her hands on his thighs, leaning back a little to adjust her position on the porch steps. "Same here. I just wanted you to have your best chance, Killian."

 

He's glad that the spot they've found is quite hidden, safe for the time being. Turning to her, he let's go of the gun in his other hand, moving to brush her cheeks, thumb rubbing along her jaw. " _You_ are my best chance, Emma."

 

Killian sees the flicker of emotions behind her beautiful, perfect, green eyes. The love, the moment of being overwhelmed by his words, the twinge of sadness from her lost girl memories of never mattering to anyone. For this quiet moment, he leans in and kisses her sweetly, passionately, _slowly_. There's not a lot of time, god, who knows how much time he has left on this world, but he wants to spend the rest of it with her, cherish all the simple moments like these, the big confessions of love and affection, to fight by her side, to _live_ a life during this crisis - not just survive.

 

Finally, he can breathe without worrying if she's gone. Emma is right next to him, safe and sound. They stay quiet now, just watching if there's any activity, but he can feel and hear her breathing change, and she's dozed off. He lets her sleep on his shoulder. He's seen the bags under her eyes, surely worse than his, her languid movements, the slump in her posture. This is a memory he wants to capture, but he knows things won't be so easy by morning when they set off, knows they'll be facing more predicaments to block their way.

 

There is no battle between the living and the dead, he doesn't have to look over his shoulder or stare into the distance as much as he used to before zombies.

 

So for now, he'll let her rest, he'll protect her from her own demons, keep her safe, because he vows on this _one_ blissful night, is that he's going to stay with her and never leave again.

 


	62. every week to every day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 30\. Bartender/Landlord AU - Person A comes in regularly at the same time every week and has a friendly relationship with the bartender (Person B) but then they don’t turn up and Person B gets worried

He owns _The Jolly Roger_. She is a successful FBI agent situated in New York.

 

It's not often his pub ends up as a fight scene by the end of the quiet evenings, a table and chair wrecked, blood splattered across the floor, and an unconscious man facedown while being handcuffed by the most beautiful, strong woman he's ever seen. Not often does he have the pleasure of spending some time with this believably, incredible blonde while he cleans up and gets her a drink, watching her down and swallow it all within seconds.

 

"Drinking on the job, love?

 

"One - not your love." She slams her glass down, needing a refill. "Two - today's job is over."

 

Ah, she's a bloody spitfire, stubborn, demanding, straightforward as anyone can ever be. He takes her empty glass, refilling it with the same tequila.

 

"Took the team and I an entire week to track this asshole down for his drug trafficking, I'm in due for some drinks," she mutters her reasoning, drinking the tequila the moment he hands her the glass, fingers barely ghosting. When he tells her to slow down, she merely grimaces. "Look, I'm tired, I just want my drink."

 

"As I _own_ this place, I'd say I have a fair ability at kicking you out since it's past closing hours now."

 

"And I can kick your ass."

 

Quite unhappy at the moment, he can tell. And yet, he can't help but tease her, to play with her fire so she'll burn even brighter with the risk of him hurting himself. "No doubt - is than an offer, darling?" he asks, using a cloth to wipe out used glasses and tumblers.

 

"Stop calling me pet names," she mutters under her breath, fingers swirling over the rim of her glass, the liquid spinning.

 

"Ah, give me a name to put to the face, then. As you can see, I'm Killian Jones." He sees the flash of doubt in her eyes before he sighs, giving up his cocky behaviour for the night in replacement for his more... _softer_ side. "Relax, lass, I'm not going to murder you or throw you into a dumpster for causing a mess here. In fact, it was quite a sight. And no, I'm not bothered by your company despite closing hours."

 

"Still, sorry about that, by the way. Didn't mean to scare away your customers."

 

"Not an issue, they'll return. Best pub on the block around this area, I don't reckon they'd drive so far to grab a drink rather than returning here." He shrugs and organizes a couple glasses around on the shelves. "I do applaud you for evading the question, however."

 

She groans and shakes her head, slapping down a fifty dollar bill before pushing herself up and off the bar stool, turning away. "Keep the changes, Jones, consider it compensation to the damage I caused." She sighs and turns her head. "And it's Swan. Emma Swan."

 

Killian grins. "Have a good evening, Swan."

 

"You, too."

 

And with that, she whips her head around and strides out, the small jingle on the door the only sound left. "Emma Swan," he whispers to himself, still staring at the closed door, the dimly lit bar so empty and quiet now. "Fits you much like a swan's gracefulness. Except with a pinch of intimidation."

 

.~.

 

She returns next week at precisely 10:30PM on a Friday night, entering right before closing hours. "Jones," she greets, plopping down at the same seat from before.

 

"Back for another round of tequila, love?"

 

She rolls her eyes, supposedly at the endearment. "Got anything a tad bit stronger? Had a rough fight, I would much rather drink that out."

 

Smirking, he nods. "I've got just the thing." He ducks below the bar, founding his best rum, procured and only to be drank by him' usually. For her, he'll make an exception. Grabbing a tumbler, he pours some of the amber coloured liquid in before capping the bottle and sliding it back to her. "This should do the job, Swan."

 

Watching her take the sip with her expression afterwards is satisfying. "Damn," she huffs, setting the glass down. "Rum?"

 

He grins. "Some of the best."

 

"Thanks." She smiles.

 

It's a genuine smile, an addition to her simple thanks. "Not a problem. How rough was your fight?"

 

She shakes her head, a small smile dancing across her lips. "Rough enough for bruises to last another week."

 

"Christ, better be more careful next time."

 

"Nothing a little alcohol can't solve sometimes."

 

She licks her lips after he fourth sip, and he nearly inhales sharply. He's not going to lie about how he does feel attracted to her, wants to feel her L's against his. But their relationship is merely a friendship, if he can consider it that at the moment. He examines her face then, searching for any bruises, only finding that there's nothing there. Besides the faint line from bags under her eyes.

 

Solemnly, he goes back to wiping the bar counter and cleaning used glasses. When he disappears to the back storage room past the kitchen, she's already gone, a ten dollar bill sitting next to the empty glass.

 

He sighs, taking the ten and putting it in the cash box, washing and drying out the tumbler and setting it back with the rest.

 

There's a quiet buzz in his blood simply from maintaining a conversation with her.

 

.~.

 

He figures she decides to come on the same day, same time, each week.

 

He usually serves her the same thing, unless she requests for something less strong because she has a case to get back to solving, or because she doesn't want to wake up feeling exhausted by the next morning.

 

They never talk about too much, mainly just about their jobs. She tells him about the latest guy, he tells her about the latest pub argument drama. Friends, it's nice to have a friend who busted into his life on much different circumstances and stays constant every time.

 

"Hello, Swan. Usual?"

 

"Rum, please," she murmurs, scrubbing a hand over her face.

 

There's something different about her aura today, she's looking to get a little tipsy and he's not sure how much he'll be handle her drunk.

 

"Something wrong today?" he quietly inquires, handing her the drink.

 

"My...friend, co-worker, he died." She sighs, shaking her head and rub her eyes.

 

"Oh." His heart breaks for her, seeing her so utterly destroyed at announcing the news. "Emma, I know alcohol seems like a good option, but you can't drown yourself in it. I'd know from experience. Sure, it numbs your pain, blurs the memory, but it'll be back to haunt you again."

 

There's no care in her eyes, just a shrug of her shoulders while she chugs the drink down in one go, watching her wince a little at the burn. "I lost him because I wouldn't believe him," she whispers so brokenly, head in her hands.

 

"I'm taking you home, love, where do you live?"

 

"No."

 

"I make the decisions here - this is my pub."

 

She looks so tired, like her energy has been drained and she hasn't got a care in the world what happens. Killian makes sure all the doors are locked and the lights are off on his way out, keeping his as, around her while she guides him toward her apartment. She's hardly awake by the time he swings her door open, throwing her keys onto the kitchen counter. He notices her barren apartment, lack of decorations or sentiments.

 

"Where's your bedroom?"

 

"First to the left," she grumbles.

 

This is him being a good friend to Emma, to show her, despite her exhaustion, that he can be reliable, that she can _trust_ him. He's seen her walls, got a peek over them a few times, to see how lonely and broken she is, how she has few friends, how she's lived as an orphan all her life.

 

That's when she breaks down, crying into his shoulder, muttering words he's not paying attention to because he wraps his arms around her, hauling her up into a proper embrace. "It's alright. Everything will be okay, Emma," he murmurs, one hand behind her head, scratching her scalp gently.

 

He doesn't have the heart to leave her by the time he has her out of her jacket and shoes, her eyes falling shut pretty quickly by the time her head hits the pillow. Deciding against leaving, he sprawls across her couch and stares at the ceiling, sighing quietly to himself.

 

That's the first time she's ever cried in front of him and let him comfort her. Perhaps Emma does trust him.

 

In the morning, he checks up on her once more, sound asleep and tangled in her sheets. He finds a glass in her kitchen cupboards and fills it with water, setting it down by her bedside table.

 

He leaves, making sure he shuts the door behind him as quietly as he can.

 

.~.

 

It's the next week, 10:30PM again, but she hasn't made an entrance.

 

He waits a few more minutes. Five minutes turn to ten and then it's 11 and she's not here, so he closes the pub and foes home wondering if she's avoiding him.

 

.~.

 

There's something _wrong_ , he realizes when it's been three weeks of not show on Emma Swan.

 

That's when he decides to pay her apartment a visit, only to be rewarded with no answer at her door. The neighbour comes out after all of his insistent banging, saying she hasn't been seen for three entire weeks.

 

Something's wrong.

 

.~.

 

By the fourth week, a man named David Nolan walks in.

 

He has scratches on him, but he seems pretty recovered from a majority of his injuries, catching Killian's attention.

 

"Killian Jones?"

 

"Aye," he says, "here for a drink?"

 

"No, I'm here on behalf of Emma Swan." David sighs, running the back of his neck anxiously, his presence worrying Killian. "Emma's been hospitalized for weeks now, I know she came here for drinks every week, so I thought you'd want to know in case you wanted to visit."

 

Killian swallows, fearing of what she's had to endure if it's already been a month. "What happened?"

 

David grimaces, likely at the memory. "We were on our way back from a mission, our plane got shot. An engine busted and we couldn't make the safest landing, she didn't go survive too well out of that. Major concussion, fractured bones, rib injuries, shoulder dislocated, broken ankle...some other smaller ones. Our pilot died. I didn't take the hardest hit, but everyone else on my team did."

 

He is merely too shocked to speak. That is a _long_ list of injuries. Emma got hurt and he didn't know until now.

 

Calling in Robin is an on the spot second decision before he's driving to the hospital.

 

.~.

 

For some reason, even if she’s merely a _friend_ , he can’t breathe when he’s in front of her door, hand stopping on the knob for the slightest second before he turns, peeking his head through to see if she’s awake or not. She’s considerably awake, surely exhausted if her injuries are taking a toll on her body’s strength.

 

She looks completely broken, _physically_ , propped up in several places, bandages and gauzes taped and wrapped all over. His heart, for once in his life since Milah, breaks apart at the sight.

 

“Hello, love,” he whispers, forcing a smile while he approaches her bed.

 

“Hey.” Her voice is raspy and dry, like she’s hardly been using her vocal chords at all, her throat completely worn out.

 

He frowns, slightly, before dragging a chair to the side of her bed and sitting down. “Recovering well, I hope?” he asks quietly. And he really, _really_ wants to reach out and grab her hand, to smooth his thumb down the back of it and whisper how much she’s concerned him, but he doesn’t, he keeps to himself. “You are feeling better, right?”

 

She hums her confirmation, her eyes are heavy with fatigue, her breathing slow and steady, as if she’s about to drift off to another land.

 

“Atleast...I can’t drown myself in alcohol this time.”

 

It’s a poor attempt at a joke when she coughs, her injury-free right hand coming to clutch at her ribs and his frown deepens.

 

“Emma,” he huffs, “get some rest, yeah?”

 

“I _can’t_.”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“It all comes...flashing back when I close my eyes,” she murmurs, noting her evident shudder before she relaxes, the tension dissipating from her shoulders eventually. “I tried.”

 

Smiling sadly, he brings her hand up and brushes a gentle kiss across it. “Try again, love. Perhaps my company can offer you some solace?”

 

“The pub?”

 

“Robin’s got it under control,” he assures her. “Rest; it’s obvious you need it.”

 

He feels a sliver of hope while he watches her sleep, her face so relaxed as if she’s got nothing on her mind, almost like a child who’s passed out like a light after a day's worth of busy, fun activities. But it’s worse on her. Experiencing a plane crash like that and _surviving_? He knows that mustn’t be easy on her, worry and fear laced through her words earlier.

 

Eventually overtime, he falls asleep with her hand still held in his. At least, after telling Robin he’ll need to close up for the night. And when the nurses say he needs to come back later at visiting time, he refuses and they nearly threaten to _sedate_ him, until Whale intrudes, insisting there’s no need to kick him out.

 

.~.

 

It’s not the easiest schedule having to open the pub early to the late nights, but because he can only visit in the mornings, he spares time earlier to go check up on her before opening hour. She’s usually never awake, trying to catch up on her sleep without having any of the scary nightmares.

 

But he tries to be there for her when he can.

 

It takes months for her to recover, to go through physical therapy and some emotional support group, though he’s aware she _hates_ having to go through the support group, adamant that it doesn’t help her. But she goes anyways, mainly because Killian tells her to go and she seems to cave when it comes to him trying to persuade her.

 

She’s stubborn as ever, too headstrong for her own good sometimes, but still a fully capable, independent woman who he greatly appreciates.

 

“Never thought I’d see you back on your feet so soon, love.” He cracks a grin at her when the door swings open with her sidling onto a seat in front of him. “So, the usual, or -”

 

“Just here to talk.” She smiles. “You know, since I sort of didn’t show up for weeks worrying you.”

 

“Ah, all’s forgiven, Swan, nothing to discuss there.” He tends to another person’s drink before returning back to her. “You sure you’d not like a drink or something to eat?”

 

She nods. “I’ll come back near closing time?”

 

He winks. “I look forward to your lovely company.”

 

.~.

 

She returns as the last customer leaves. He turns the sign to _closed_ behind her.

 

It’s been hard for him to resist showing any affection to her for the past few months - hell, since he _met_ her when she first caused a scene in his pub. He thinks about the fact of how he’s kept by her side as a good _friend_ while he turns shuts all the blinds so they can have more _privacy_.

 

“So -” he turns back to her, “- still not up for a drink, love?”

 

“A quick shot of that rum of yours could be nice.”

 

He gives her the drink, watching her bring it to her lips, tilt her head back, and drink the small shot. “Refreshing, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah.” She nods once, putting the shot glass down. “Anyways, I wanted to thank you for helping me get through this for the last few months. I know you had more important things like running your own pub and stuff, but you still made time to come visit. I appreciate it, Killian.”

 

“Was nothing, really.” He shrugs.

 

What happens later is how he watches her eyelashes flutter, how her eyes dart to his lips then back up to his eyes. It’s how he can see she’s nervous about something. He smiles at her before he pushes her up against the bar, gently because he’s not sure of the extent of her recovery at the moment, before he presses his lips against hers out of his pure selfishness, because he _can’t_ deny he has all these feelings for her that’s budding and unable to stop. If he could stop it, he still wouldn’t.

 

She’s a bloody temptress, that’s what she is - her tongue begging for entrance, which he lets because he’s _weak_ when it comes to her, a spot in his heart reserved especially for her.

 

Even he can’t resist a groan when she bites down on his lower lip by the smallest bit. His fingers tighten at her hips just slightly, before one of his hands wrap around to her lower back, palm pressed flat against her leather jacket.

 

“I’ll walk you home,” he manages to say after being breathless for several moments.

 

He can’t help but slip his arm around her waist after turning the lights off and locking the door, can’t help but kiss her again in front of her door, can’t help but go home thinking he’s got his chance at being with her.

 

Now he’s never able to look at the bar the same without thinking about their first kiss, but at least he gets his company back every week at the same time.

 

(Well, more like _everyday_ when she’s not working.)

 


	63. nights she fears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 32\. “Calm down, calm down. It’s me! You’re not where you think you are, you’re safe with me at home.” Escaped from hostage AU.

She’s been caught in a sticky situation before, but this one is different. She doesn’t have time to contemplate, deciding that jumping out the nearest window is the easiest way to escape her being taken hostage. It’s just feeling glass pierce through her skin and hearing a shot go off, before she plummets into the pavement, scraping her hands and knees, hardly able to stand back down before she collapses.

 

Blue eyes is all she really sees.

 

Blue eyes and arms that catch her before she breaks, completely drained of energy and drowned in pure fear.

 

She’s been tortured. Her hands are still tied behind her back, the texture digging into her skin and irritating it. Her back is littered with scrapes and bruises she’s sure. She’s also been hit on the face and in the head with the back end of the man’s gun.

 

It was all a mistake, she shouldn’t have gone in there so recklessly. She’s aware she fucked up pretty badly.

 

“Emma, stay with me.”

 

It’s a distant voice that’s all too familiar, she’s trying to fight to stay conscious, but it’s not working, her brain begging her to _sleep_.

 

She wakes then like she’s heard a shot go off, falling onto the floor and trying to breathe, only to end up feeling like she’s suffocating. It’s like she still feels the burn on her wrists before someone’s pulling her up against their chest, the experience still rattling her sanity and making her thrash in the dark.

 

“Love, _Emma_ , calm down, it’s me,” he pleads, his hands firm at her stomach. “You’re not where you think you are, Swan, you’re home. You’re safe with me.”

 

She snaps back to herself then, realizing he’s right, that they’re _home_ in _their_ bedroom. She’s been on leave then ever since the hostage situation had gone down. It’s left her in a bad state ever since, the nightmares and memory still coming back of the criminal and his lies, the criminal and his own decision in physically harming her, only to leave her with mental scars now, too. In a way, it feels like she’s already lost, that the battle has long ended.

 

“Sorry,” she croaks, leaning back into him while he relaxes his grip. Emma knows she’s safe with him, she knows it was him who caught her that day, where he got called because his _wife_ was being held hostage by a dangerous criminal who’s been wanted for years. She’d jumped the gun, then, eager to get the bastard behind bars. “I want it to stop.”

 

“I know, darling,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss into her hair. “It’ll take some time.”

 

“But how much longer?”

 

He sighs, not answering her because she knows there _is_ no answer, nothing accurate or right to say. Besides, lying to her isn’t going to help since she sees right through it.

 

“I’m gonna go walk for a bit,” she murmurs, wrenching out of his hold to grab her jacket. “You don’t need to wait for me.”

 

She’s still shaking when she slips her arms through the sleeves, inhaling a breath. When he grabs her, she flinches at his touch, remembering the ropes on her wrist. He pulls back like he’s just burned her with the fire or shocked her a taser, immediately apologizing.

 

The scars are still there, red but faded, still visible. New ones snap open each day she causes a frown on his face, too.

 

Hope is just _too hard_ to hold onto sometimes.

 

.~.

 

It isn’t even _death_ that scares her. It’s the inflicted damage that carries more venom instead. It’s the fear of thinking the love of her life will only remember her for doing something stupid, the fear that he’ll blame her for making a ruthless decision. Or even just the fear of leaving him behind with nothing but five years of life spent together when they promised _forever and always_. Of leaving him to a place he can’t follow her to.

 

She plays with the ring on her finger, twisting and turning it while she sits on the steps before their apartment.

 

She’s hurting.

 

But so is he because of her.

 

.~.

 

He’s not asleep when she returns. He’s got his head in his hands, perched on the edge of the bed, lamp turned on.

 

“I said you didn’t need to wait,” she whispers, shrugging her coat off and hanging it back to its original placing.

 

He sighs and shakes his head stubbornly, like the man she’s always known. “I wanted to.”

 

Her cheeks are still stained with the coolness from outside when she sits down next to him, pressing her cheek into his shoulder and closing her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes again. “I know this is hard for you, too.”

 

“I won’t deny that it is, of course.” He huffs a short laugh, his arm snaking around her waist, head turning to kiss her hair. “But you’ve known me to take a challenge - this is one. I’m not going to back down now, love. I love you too bloody much to let you go, and if it’s space you need, I’ll give it to you,” he murmurs. “But, are you okay?”

 

“I’m okay for now,” she confirms, burying her face into the side of his neck. “I can sleep, I think. I cleared my mind.”

 

He nods and climbs into the bed and she gathers in next to him and into his arms. She pulls the string on the lamp to shut it off before turning her head back against his chest, sighing quietly. Emma just focuses on his heartbeat, the gentle thud she hears and the movement from the rise of his chest, his calm breathing.

 

"Killian?"

 

"Aye, my love?"

 

She yawns, turning around to press her back against his chest, bringing his hand from her hip into her hands, tugging it to tuck above her heart - he still has her fully. "Thank you."

 

It's a thank you for her love, his understanding, his patience, and simply being him.

 

.~.

 

It's a nightmare she wakes up to, but not as intense as previously. Her eyes snap open, blinking a few times to adjust to the light seeping in through the curtains. Emma feels the warmth of his hand beneath her shirt on her stomach, she feels his breath hot against her skin, his light snoring coming from behind. She almost sighs of relief to know she's okay, having to reassure herself she's waking up in the right hands.

 

She wants to get out of bed and shower, the sweat from last night still bothering her, but he's so warm and she feels like she's the most safe person in the world right now, she refuses to leave the bed.

 

She slides her eyes shut, remembering his sleeping form next to her in the hospital, remembering how he wasted all his sick days after to take care of her, despite it risking his job. Then the man behind her shifts his palm, moving up and down her stomach and she opens her eyes, finding him lazily looking at her with a smile over her shoulder.

 

"Sleep better?"

 

"Yes," she answers, despite still waking to a smaller nightmare, "much better."

 

"Good." He drops his head to plant a kiss on her cheek. "Breakfast?"

 

"Shower first."

 

"Shall I join you?"

 

"If you want," she replies openly, not minding too much.

 

It’s the first time they've showered together since the hostage situation. She winces when she finds a sensitive spot still not fully recovered from the bruise. Killian is ridiculously careful with her, his hands gliding down her arms and back to her shoulders, then falling behind to massage gently at her the spot between her shoulder blades. She moans her head falling forward and hitting the tiled wall.

 

He kisses her wrists under the spray; where his hair has fallen forward, wet strands littering this forehead. Emma doesn't flinch this time, she relaxes at his touch, drifting off to forget everything that happened that day.

 

Eventually, she just stands there with him under the hot water, her forehead pressed against his shoulder and his hands at her waist.

 

"Okay?" he asks over the sound from the spraying water.

 

"Yes," she murmurs, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

 

.~.

 

Their nights are still difficult. She still has to get reminded every time she wakes up that she's safe and at home, that nothing and no one can harm her. It takes her moments until she believes, slouching back into his arms with little effort. Killian never lets her go, like he's silently promising the same thing every night.

 

With time, the terrors begin to fade.

 

The worst one happens when she falls asleep on the couch waiting for Killian to come home. She can't go to bed without him, otherwise she _knows_ the demons will strike, so she's not particularly proud to wake up with him kneeling beside her with his worried blue eyes gazing into hers.

 

That marks one of the last nightmares, luckily.

 

She quits her job the moment she gets the chance, knowing she'll never function well on the field again. She searches for a better job then, despite it being a little difficult to find the right one at the right location. Emma feels like she's a lost cause, only Killian and her other friends reassuring her constantly that she's not, that she needs to stop worrying about it.

 

She wants to.

 

Sometimes he'll be home early with a dinner waiting for her or a shower where he cherishes every bit of her body, no matter how battered and bruised. It's helping her get back to her previous self, the one who doesn't needs to worry every time she feels like someone's eyes are on her. More often than not, she ends up falling asleep with her head on his shoulder or his lap in front of the TV, his fingers smoothing against her scalp, causing her to grow drowsy. In a way, that stops her from worrying as well, dreaming of a house by the sea, the sun shining brightly, Killian by her side.

 

He suggests they move back to Storybrooke, leaving New York behind - that they’ll have guaranteed jobs as before and because it’ll benefit her to not worry about experiencing anything like she has before again.

 

She doesn't hesitate to answer with _yes_.

 

.~.

 

It takes a while, but they get there slowly.

 

They pack up and move the moment their lease is over, back to the house by the sea they’d only rented for summers, now buying it down and having it renovated to fit all their _dreams_.

 

Everyone is happy to finally have them back in town, _officially_. It’s safe to say that Emma feels a lot more like she’s at home with Killian now that they’re surrounded by friends that have cared since the beginning. She sighs, leaning her head on his shoulder while Killian maintains a conversation with David, closing her eyes for a moment to sink in with everything and everyone around her.

 

“Want to go home, love?”

 

“No, not yet.”

 

He nods and kisses her temple, rubbing his hand up and down her back a little before they start up a conversation again.

 

Emma is happy where she is. No nightmares can scare her away as badly as before this time around; not with the waves and his heartbeat she hears in bed, not with the way the door (which she _wants_ to get fixed) creaks open from him returning home, not with the fireplace crackling while they sit in front of it.

 

She feels better than ever, and she knows, even if she has another nightmare like that again, she won’t feel as lonely in a city of hundreds of thousands of people, when she’s surrounded in a town of everyone she basically knows.

 

It’s where it all began with her dreams of being in the police force, so now it’s where it ends, only to start something new.

 


	64. i can't lose you (i know)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 34\. You almost got hit by a car and i pushed you away AU

She’s never panicked in her life so badly before. Between screaming, “Jones, watch out!” and jumping toward him to push him out of the car’s way, she’s also never felt so much _pain_ in her life since joining the police academy.

 

“Emma!”

 

She can’t help but just _groan_ and roll around, realizing she’s definitely cracked a few ribs and probably has a concussion edging because _damn_ does her head spin.

 

“Emma, _fuck_.” He kneels down next to her and he smiles up at him, wincing because her face hurts just as much from hitting the ground with a solid scrape. “Why the bloody hell did you think _that_ was a good idea?” he mutters, carefully lifting her onto his lap, her promptly wincing at the pain coursing throughout her body.

 

“Can’t lose one of the best detectives now, can we?” she chokes out, swallowing.

 

He’s already got his hand pressing at a scratch which has opened up to begin bleeding on her shoulder. “Just stay with me, love, help is already on the way.”

 

“Just hold me,” she eventually says quietly, squeezing her eyes shut before cracking them open to see his set jaw and worried blue eyes, “ _please_ , Killian. Just hold me.”

 

“I am, Swan.” He laughs a little, more like forced laughter, she can tell even in her state. “Just stay with me in return, darling.”

 

Whatever injuries she’s been graced with on this fine, _fine_ fucking day, it hurts like a bitch and she’d love it if she could just go back to fifteen minutes ago when they’d been bantering in the office while David told them to shut up and go for their lunch break.

 

David’s here too, she realizes but he’s pacing back and forth yelling something while she just stares at Killian for however long she can, seeing his damn perfect jawline and everything else about his handsome appearance. Breathing is no easy feat, not with this rib problem and her losing some blood simultaneously, and she curses under her breath just as the ambulance arrives, the traffic around them already blocked off, people even _watching_ in horror.

 

Killian doesn’t let go, not until they try to put her on the stretcher, that’s when she curses, surely to make even a sailor blush, screwing her eyes shut until they burn in pain.

 

Apparently, even _he_ doesn’t leave her side then, climbing into the back of the ambulance while she’s stuck in pain.

 

Her entire body essentially _aches_ , more pain when the paramedics next to her do a routine checkup and patch up any possible injuries they can. Killian’s holding her hand the entire time, but she doesn’t really feel it, not when she feels _numb_.

 

“Hold on a little longer. Almost there.”

 

She inhales a deep breath before she coughs, forgetting her ribs are probably broken directly from _that_ impact. “ _Jesus_ ,” she grumbles.

 

.~.

 

“You shouldn’t have pushed me out of the way.”

 

“Are we _really_ discussing me saving you from getting hit?” she asks, snapping at him.

 

“Not that I want to, Swan, but you risked your life for mine.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair, settling a little more back in his seat next to her bed. “You could have died.”

 

She groans. “I didn’t die.”

 

“You _could’ve_.”

 

“Oh, come on,” she mutters, rolling her eyes at him. “Can we please just say we agree to disagree?”

 

He chuckles, amusement on his face with a raised eyebrow. “Aye, I suppose we can since it seems unlikely we’ll ever agree on anything.” With a sigh, he crosses his arms over his chest. “Dave’s going to give you an earful the moment he’s off work, you do realize that, right?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Want me to stay?”

 

She nods. “Stay.”

 

.~.

 

There’s the bit at her shoulder which has been patched up, but still visible if she wears a tanktop or anything _less_ , so she sticks to shirts and sweaters to avoid showing that off. Her face is bruised and scratched as well, but they’ve healed overtime, better than her ribs or her shoulder.

 

The x-rays had been enough to show her that she’ll need plenty of rest and little physical exertion, so David forces her to make a decision between a desk job or taking leave.

 

Latter option seems much more intriguing than a desk job, so of course she takes that.

 

After being admitted out of the hospital and back at her apartment, Killian taking some sick days off to make sure she’s taking her meds and everything, she keeps getting flashbacks of the accident. Except...well with a _different_ ending.

 

She has one where he gets hit and she feels so helpless, that she runs over and holds him while he’s bleeding, his blood on her hands because she _couldn’t do anything_ , all stunned.

 

And then he’s gone, the light from his always so lively blue eyes _gone_ , nothing she can do to help. And she hurts, hurts because she shouldn’t have been a bystander.

 

That’s usually when she wakes up drenched in cold sweat, legs tangled in her sheets, her pillow damp from the wetness on her skin. It’s when she begins to realize she has deeper feelings for this stupid man, with the man she’s completed several cases with, accompanying him as backup in case anything ever goes awry at the crime scene.

 

But now she realizes he’s somehow rooted himself within her heart, weaved the mazes and climbed the hills, broke her walls and let light in.

 

 _Damn, I like him_.

 

She knows she can’t push him away now. So she does what she can, confronts him, despite how frightened she is with the concept of admitting her feelings to him seems like.

 

**_Killian: Eaten anything yet?_ **

 

**_Emma: No, my fridge is currently very empty._ **

 

**_Killian: Then Chinese it is. Be there soon._ **

 

In less than an hour, he’s with a bag of chinese takeout that is the non-authentic version of chinese cuisine.

 

In that time, she’s been worrying about what to say.

 

Emma Swan is not adept in the ways of conveying how she feels through words.

 

Sue her for being an action's type of girl.

 

.~.

 

She panics, just like the first time she nearly saw him get hit.

 

He’s cleaned up for her, made her a mug of hot cocoa with cinnamon, there’s _nothing_ that hasn’t got her in his web of affections by now. She’s gone, really.

 

It doesn’t take that long for him to ask if she’s okay. “You’re acting a little strange, Swan.”

 

So she puts down her half finished mug on the coffee table, and tugs him by the lapels of his leather jacket and kisses him senseless. She has to breath him in at some point, the spicy, fresh smell of his cologne and his aftershave, and then there’s his lips, how he _moves_ against her, his hand dropping to the side of her head and into her hair, tangling his fingers in them.

 

She winces a little at their awkward positioning, her ribs killing her. “Damn. Sorry,” she mutters, dropping her forehead against his.

 

“Quite alright, love,” he chuckles, smiling. “You shouldn’t hurt yourself because of me, _again_. Though I’d love to pursue after some more enjoyable activities, you’re not in any state to engage in them.”

 

She knows _exactly_ what he’s insinuating - not that she disagrees with him. He is illegally good looking, seriously, she knows that for a fact. “I’m bad at words,” she eventually tells him, easing back into a more comfortable position on the couch. “Had no clue how to tell you that I…” she trails off, biting down on her lip, struggling to say _I like you_.

 

“That you what? _Like_ me, Swan?” he teases.

 

Honestly, she can definitely hit him now, but he’s actually serious once the teasing lilt to his voice is stripped away from his words. “Yes,” she answers sheepishly, closing her eyes. “If I can’t bear losing you, that means something, right?”

 

“It does,” he affirms with a soft voice, resting his hand on hers before he flips it over and intertwines their fingers. “I assure you, love, that the feeling is mutual.”

 

Her panic, the warnings in her head, finally settle down.

 

.~.

 

Everyone complains about their displays of affection, but really, it’s just _Killian_ who’s doing it all. He kisses her cheek or he kisses her on the lips, always managing to get his hands on her. It’s like he _won’t_ let her out of his hold, that she’ll do something like save his ass again and actually go somewhere he can’t follow.

 

“I can’t lose you, either, Emma,” he murmurs one night, neither of them actually asleep but just exhausted.

 

“You won’t,” she promises him, curling herself against him underneath the covers, closing her eyes and sighing. “But you better not do something stupid, too.”

 

He exhales a breath into her hair before pressing a kiss into it.

 

She’s just about to fall asleep when she hears his quiet response.

 

“I won’t if you won’t.”

 


	65. i can be your knight (or you could be mine)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 36\. my friend dragged me to this party and I just saw my ex quick make out with me AU
> 
>  **warning:** goes into **_M rated_** territory near the end.

He’s not here by choice.

 

Of course, if he’d decided to come by choice, he’d be talking with more that just Emma, Robin and Will, but that’s not exactly the case when Robin dragged him here to this party that Regina’s holding, giving him little to _no_ decision but to attend for his friend’s sake. But, of course he doesn’t mind the open bar and the pleasant company of Emma Swan, who is perhaps, just the most interesting woman of them all.

 

Simply nursing a glass of wine is not enough for him to feel the _buzz_ in his blood yet, but every time he makes direct eye contact with Emma, he surely feels like the alcohol is finally getting to him. The heat that coils in his stomach is a much further exaggeration of what he usually gets when he sees her, only a little flutter, so yes, this _heat_ is the tenfold of how he feels with his little crush on Emma.

 

Sitting at the fine age of thirty-one and single, one utterly _destroyed_ relationship from his past, he’s not quite certain how he’s never taken a shine on Emma Swan instead. He’s known her for awhile, always considered her a friend, and if not that, family. Killian’s been there for her for a long time coming, but everything between them has always been the most platonic of relationships of all. Yes, they spend time together when they’re not caught up working and they go out for drinks and play pool and get _competitive_ , but she’s never been more to him than one of his best friends.

 

Well, at least until, _tonight_.

 

She looks simply stunning, her blonde hair golden like the sunlight of day cascading down past her shoulder with light curls. Her green eyes shining with some sort of amusement he doesn’t usually see unless she’s enjoying herself at least a little bit (which he knows is rare considering she’s not fond of any sort of social gathering that requires actual _socializing_ ). Her laughter seems a little more pure this time around, not with that tint of sadness, and as well for once, she doesn’t seem too forced into having to contribute to a lengthy conversation. (About _politics_ , which oddly enough, is not the weirdest thing he’s ever had talk about before, but definitely the most boring.)

 

It’s lovely to see her riled up, making his night much more worthwhile with every passing second despite how much he _despises_ being at this place.

 

He doesn’t have the best relationship with Regina (or reputation, really), hence his displeasure at attending anything that she hosts, but with Robin being enamored by the woman (which Killian does not understand whatsoever), he becomes the drag-along friend next to Will, much like his two wingmen. Not that he wants to engage in anything that relates to setting Robin up with Regina.

 

There’s only so much Killian Jones can offer in his friendship by this point with Robin Locksley.

 

“Donald Trump is an _asshole_ ,” Emma grumbles, taking a tentative sip from her drink. “I mean, the guy practically insults everyone else to put himself on top. Plus, he just doesn’t seem like the sort of guy to be worthy of being the US president.”

 

Killian chuckles at her fierce statement, only able to go along and be entertained. He doesn’t quite understand American politics only because he’s not one to ever put his mind and heart into it.

 

“Right, Killian?”

 

He snaps his eyes up at her and then looks at Robin who’s surely also just as amused.

 

“Not sure if I’ve got much of a side to that, darling.” He slides his tongue between his teeth and then shrugs. “But if there’s any indication by how you’re describing him, I’d say I agree with you. Sounds like a bloody arse. However, do tell why we have indulged ourselves in a conversation about politics that none of us are really care about?”

 

“I don’t even know myself.” She shrugs with a laugh, crossing one leg over the other.

 

He takes his time to appreciate her legs and the dress she’s procured herself of wearing, the red dress causing her to stand out more than anything. “Well, to remove myself from _this_ rather awkward situation, I’m going to go find myself a refill on this drink,” he eventually declares, grabbing his glass and standing up, trying to get himself _away_ from Emma.

 

“I’ll come with.” Emma waves her empty glass. “I need a refill as well.”

 

Almost cursing out loud, he nods and cocks his head toward the bar, leaving behind the two men, who surely is going to go find their dates for the night.

 

There’s just something in the air tonight which makes him feel like he’s more _attracted_ to her, something that would most certainly ruin their relationship should anything more than friends occur between them. Of course he’s had _less than pure_ thoughts about him and Emma being together, of all the possible places he could take her on.

 

He’s a man with his own limits, regardless of his code and being a gentleman.

 

But so much of his limits are tested the moment he thinks he catches someone’s familiar face and hair, only to realize it’s the last person he’d want to see. _Ever_. “Bloody _fucking_ hell,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose as he hides behind the heads of several other people. “My night was going swimmingly decent until now.”

 

“What did you see?” Emma asks.

 

“Milah,” he grumbles.

 

“Your _ex_?” She sighs, turning her own head to glance behind her shoulder, her face crumpled with disgust when he catches her expression. “Wow, she had the nerve to show up here?”

 

“She is _Gold’s_ wife, not much of a choice. Nor did she probably expect me to attend either, but here we are in a situation I’d much rather avoid, though I know she’s going to see me.” He knows one way of warding Milah off, and that’d be with jealousy, but he’s not just going to drag a random woman and promptly kiss her. “Swan, could we just...you know, _make out_ the moment she walks in this direction?”

 

“What?”

 

“Christ, would it be so bad to kiss me? Help a good friend out, would you?”

 

“Has the alcohol gotten to you, Killian?”

 

“Emma,” he begs, “ _please_. I cannot have her think I’m still single and lonely and not over her, it’s quite embarrassing.”

 

She groans, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. “Fine.”

 

“Brilliant, well, I think I’ll need to kiss you _now_ because she’s heading toward us,” he says quietly but quickly. “At least make it seem like you’re into it, aye?”

 

It may just be the worst idea as he eases himself forward, hovering above her lips before he captures them, his eyes automatically shutting at the feeling of her lips moving against his, of her hands sliding up his chest to rest at his shoulders, his right hand immediately moving to cup the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair without a second thought. It’s much more than he’s expected to feel her presses against him, her lips in sync as she slants just a little more before he takes it further, biting down at her lip and letting his tongue enter.

 

God, his crush is turning into something _way_ more than a simple bit of temporary infatuation now that he’s bloody _kissing the living daylight_ out of her without even worrying about anything or anyone around him.

 

By the time someone coughs, he pulls away from her and opens his eyes, feeling completely flushed, everything heading _south_ , just as he clenches his jaw and turns to the person, Milah, of course.

 

“Killian.”

 

“Milah.” He curtly nods, managing to snake his arm around Emma’s waist to show his possessiveness. “Lovely to see you again, lass.”

 

“Likewise,” the woman responds. “I assume you’re a happy man, now?”

 

“Outrageously happy with Emma here, yes,” he confirms with a smile, finding it’s not that hard to put up a curl of his lips when he can’t believe he just _completely_ made out with her. “And I can safely assume you and Mr. Gold are perfectly content as well?”

 

Milah nods. “Quite.”

 

“Nice to hear.” Killian sighs. “Well, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to keep your husband waiting any longer. It’s great to see that you’ve...worked things out so well after us.”

 

She huffs a breath, nodding. “It’s nice to see you’ve moved on as well.”

 

And with that, she’s _finally_ gone from their views and he leans back toward the counter, sighing a breath of relief. “That wasn’t as hard as I thought.”

 

“Which part; the kissing me until I was all red that you had an erection, or the confrontation with your ex?”

 

He feels the heat again rising to his cheeks, the tip of his ears, even his _neck_ , before he bites his lower lip. “Don’t know what you mean by my _erection_ , Swan, but I did enjoy the kissing part quite a bit. And perhaps turning my ex away was a little entertaining, too. Her face seemed quite tight and unamused at first.”

 

“Oh _come on_ , it was so obvious.”

 

“I wouldn’t overstep any boundaries if I were you, sweetheart.”

 

She raises an eyebrow. “Are we drunk?”

 

“Not sure, but considering I was able to maintain a civil conversation with my ex, and you were rationally thinking before my sudden plan, I think neither of us are either _that_ drunk.” He shrugs, forgetting his drink on the counter. “Oh, and you were bloody brilliant with the kissing, by the way.”

 

Emma hums, glancing around. “I hope you realize I actually care very little about politics.”

 

“Are you sure? You seemed quite passionate with your speech about that _Trump_ person.”

 

With a scoff, she shakes her head. “Hardly knowledgeable about him, actually. What I said is just a quick deduction of my very vague understanding after hearing about him on the news and the radio a few times. I’m not the politics type of person.”

 

“Neither am I.”

 

“Good.”

 

They’re sober enough.

 

.~.

 

Neither of them are fond of kissing so much in public (let alone kiss because they’ve only ever been _friends_ ), so the moment she excuses herself to the washroom he quickly follows like a puppy, locking the door behind him and pushing her up against it, realizing his erection is still quite alive in his pants down there, that Emma’s been right all along, and her grinding against him with this friction bothers him a little bit because of _clothes_.

 

But he doesn’t really want to take her here, not in some mansion’s huge washroom.

 

The surprise is how she manages to unbuckle his belt and let his black jeans drop, her hand cupping him straight through his briefs before he can even protest.

 

“Emma, are you -”

 

“Shut up,” she interrupts, her fingers hooking through the waistband of his briefs and dragging them down.

 

“You don’t have to do this,” he says gruffly. But he can admit that he feels far more relieved now without any restraints. “Not unless you’re sure, because I do -” he squeezes his eyes shut, “- _not_ want to ruin our friendship,” he manages to add on, his head dropping against the door.

 

She sighs, looking up at him when she kneels down. “I’m fairly sober right now. _Plus_ , I wouldn’t have left the door unlocked if I was seriously just going to go use the toilet. We can talk later.”

 

With that, he tenses up when her hand wraps around his shaft, but when she begins stroking him up and down, he relaxes a bit against the door and has to bite back his own moans, swallowing them down while he gently fists a hand in her hair.

 

This is not how he expected his night at a party to go down.

 

First his ex makes an appearance, he then suggests they make out to try and make said ex jealous and walk away, and _then_ it results to her giving him a release of pleasure in the bloody _washroom_. He’s not sure how he’s going to handle this now that he has Emma Swan kneeled in front of him so willingly, doing nothing but helping him while he has these thoughts of regrets and all these possibilities of screwing up their valued friendship in his mind.

 

“Bloody hell,” he mumbles, her hand doing pure _wonders_.

 

Killian almost says her name out, _loudly_ , before he’s trying to steady his breathing, his hand falling limp to his side while she stands up and presses a brief kiss to his lips. “There, issue solved, and because I know you’re a gentleman, you wouldn’t want to take me here, so let’s just go back to the party.”

 

“Hold on, love, I’ve got to regain my sense of self-control,” he breathes, rubbing his eyes. “I’m also quite sure I’d much rather leave the party, now.”

 

“Can’t wait, can you?”

 

“I’m only human, darling.” He winks before he pulls his briefs and pants back up, buckling his belt back. “But when I meant leave the party, I meant Netflix, pizza, and beer. I’d rather have sex _after_ we’ve had a proper date, and since we can’t do that now, might as well go home and relax.”

 

She sighs, laughing a little. “Ever the gentleman.”

 

“Always.”

 

But really, he’s just relieved to know that _no one_ noticed their disappearance to the washroom or the moans he nearly let out. (Or how they sneak out to get that Netflix, pizza, and beer just like he’d said.)

 

.~.

 

At least now when either of them catch their ex(es) at a party or gathering of some sort, they don’t need to plan ahead of time to make the opposites jealous. It comes easy for him to just have his arm dangling behind her chair, to kiss her cheek or keep his hand in hold with hers. It comes easy for her (he knows because he’s observant) to just rest her hand on his thigh or around his torso, to cup his cheeks before she hugs him when he’s worrying too much.

 

Everything becomes easier when they’re actually _together_ and not stepping on eggshells around their friendship which he’d been so keen on not ruining. The fact that she agreed to kiss - to _make out_ \- with him that night still astonishes him to lengths sometimes, leaving Emma with the advantage to humiliate him because of how he’d been extremely aroused.

 

Can’t bring her anywhere without her teasing him a little bit.

 

He takes her out on multiple dates, well, mostly little dates just because he _can_ and he _wants_ to.

 

While he finds himself busy with getting drinks, he soon realizes she’s uncomfortably dealing with a drunk arse, so he forgets about getting the drinks and immediately arrives to her side, claiming that she is _his_ and his _only_. And when he’s awarded with a kiss, (not that she needs any reasons to kiss him) he grins and bumps her noses with his before telling the man to bugger off and take his drunken stupor elsewhere.

 

“Protective, aren’t you?”

 

“I’d say I’m definitely going to be protective _and_ possessive when it comes to anyone I care for,” he tells her. “Oh! I forgot about the drinks, shall we get back to that?”

 

“Were you just staring at me the entire time you were waiting for them?”

 

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Merely glanced over to check on you before I realized the ponce was forcing you into your not-so-comfort zone. Had to swoop in and save the damsel in distress, of course.”

 

“My knight in shining armour,” she quips.

 

“I’d say you were the knight the first time around.” He orders the drinks again, taking a seat on the bar stool. “Otherwise we wouldn’t have ended up where we are now, love.”

 


	66. like nobody's around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 40\. nerd and jock are secretly dating AU

Killian hates being the jock of the school, he doesn’t _mean_ to be one, but this reputation has sprouted and he can’t exactly dim down on his behaviour too much. People already know he hangs out with _Emma Swan_ , the apparent orphan and nerd of the school (sometimes). Ever since she arrived, he’s seen the eyes of an orphan because it takes one to know one. Sure, she’s been told to avoid _Killian Jones_ at all costs, but he’s a persistent guy who fights for what he wants, and he’s fought for her attention already.

 

Hence, well, they’re little situation in secretly dating behind everyone’s backs.

 

Though of course, it doesn’t go without saying how much he’s teased her so far this year. He still does and she always hits him square in the arm or the chest when he does, only to elicit more teasing and mocking.

 

The library, apparently at _her_ insistence, is always full of other people, so she always ends up in the gym on the bleachers reading the latest book or getting ahead with the newest project from class. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate any of that, but he’s distracted more often than not, wanting to call out to her, but he can’t do that. It’s supposed to be a secret. His friends may not mind (because they’re actually decently nice people), but the school gossip definitely would.

 

So they keep to themselves during school times while he’s busy with basketball or swimming, or while she’s reading the latest issue of whatever comic she likes. (Secretly, he likes them too, but of course he’s never going to admit that.)

 

She makes him want to be a different person, she makes him want to drop his perfect reputation for her.

 

“Ass,” she mutters.

 

He laughs, throwing his arm around her shoulders. “Calm down, love.”

 

“You got my homework all _wet_ , thank you very much.”

 

“Positively sure you can redo it in no time, Swan, you’ve always been quite talented at such tasks. I, on the other hand, take a little longer to.” When she eventually breaks into a smile, he grins and kisses her cheek. “Come on, Liam said he’d make us dinner tonight if your foster parents don’t mind.”

 

“They never care,” she says.

 

He sighs into her mouth when she steps up to kiss him and he presses her against the lockers in the empty change room, hands firm at her hips while hers wrap around his neck, resting on his shoulders. Never mind that he’s still _shirtless_ after swimming practice in the pool from an hour by himself and a few others. At least he’s had to courtesy of drying himself off before kissing her against the lockers.

 

“Get a damn shirt on,” she mutters when they break apart.

 

Leaning his forehead against hers, he can’t help but chuckle. “You’ve never been against me shirtless before.”

 

“Right, but we’re still on school property and anyone can catch us right now. I know you don’t want us to be caught,” she reasons, poking his chest.

 

“Right you are, love.” He scratches behind his ear, then runs a hand through his still damp hair, frustrated that he can’t _publicly_ go out with her and be seen. “Let me find my shirt and we can get going.”

 

.~.

 

May as well consider them professionals at what they do.

 

He tries not to make fun of her too much when he’s with a group of the _douchebag_ team members, because he knows Emma hates it, even though he’s just trying to keep his bravado up and let them all know he hasn’t gone _soft_. Luckily enough, (as stereotypical as it is), they aren’t very smart, so when he shoots her an apologetic look, he notices her soften and smile softly to know that everything’s fine. Thank god they’re not smart enough to read facial expressions well.

 

“Lads, I’m bloody exhausted and don’t feel like staying any longer. Let’s get going.”

 

“You’re never that exhausted,” one of them reason.

 

He groans and scrubs his face, shaking his head. “Look, _mate_ , I’m not in the mood act as a pompous _jerk_ tonight.”

 

They all scurry off reluctantly, leaving him and Emma alone. Killian breathes a sigh of relief, turning back and immediately apologizing after glancing around to make sure they’ve all left the Gym. “So sorry, love,” he murmurs. “Really, they just ruin my mood, but luckily, you make my day better.”

 

She shrugs casually. “You sure swimming doesn’t make your day better?”

 

“No, you do.” He grins and kisses her forehead. “You should get going, I’ve a meeting with Phillip and Robin to attend for the lineups at cities this year.”

 

“I’m proud of you, _pompous jerk_.”

 

He chuckles at the way she enunciates the words and he shakes his head, watching her exit the Gym with her bag slung over her shoulder.

 

God, he’s _so_ screwed.

 

.~.

 

“Happy birthday, _Swan_.”

 

“Wow, thanks,” she grumbles, turning away from him.

 

They’ve grown good at acting. “That’s all I’m getting sweetheart? Come on.”

 

He _hates_ having to have to secretly date behind the cliques and the gangs of other teenage boys, but when they are alone, everything is maddeningly sweet and lovely, and he doesn’t want it any other way with Emma.

 

She may be the _nerd_ , but she’s got the mouth of a sailor sometimes.

 

“Piss off, _mate_ ,” she spits back, earning a raise of an eyebrow from him.

 

“Someone’s moody on their birthday. Come on, love, you’re seventeen now.” He chuckles, folding his arms across his chest before he turns to glance at the other three guys around him. “Let’s leave her to herself now, I’ll be nicer to you since it’s your day of celebration.” He winks at Emma before turning and walking off, feeling a bit of guilt.

 

One more year. One more year of high school and he’ll be able to treat her out without worrying about all of his other jock buddies. (Not even buddies, he doesn’t actually like them.)

 

Emma’s changed him for the better. Liam used to say he’s not the same little brother, but when he says, “There’s my little brother,” he can’t help but think meeting Emma is the best thing that’s happened. (She _is_ the best thing that’s happened.)

 

.~.

 

“Star Wars,” she states, dragging him toward the couch.

 

“Of course that’d be the films you’d want us to marathon through.” He laughs, willingly letting her tug him until he’s sitting onto the couch, watching her grab the laptop and find the file, double tapping the touchpad with her index finger. “Ever the Han Solo fan, aren’t you?”

 

“You know it,” she responds enthusiastically, hitting play.

 

That’s how he spends the rest of the evening with her. Her foster parents drop in and ask if they want any dinner, but they just ordered pizza, so he politely declines the offer. But after eating and going through at least three of the movies, her head drops to his shoulder and she yawns.

 

“Swan,” he murmurs, “don’t fall asleep on me. I’ve not given you your birthday gift yet.”

 

“Oh.”

 

He pulls out the box in his jacket pocket, opening it up for her to see the necklace he’s bought her. Scratching behind his ear, he watches her pick it up with a sense of delicateness. “It...well, it’s quite literal here with the swan, and it just reminded me of you.” He chuckles a little nervously. “And I’ve saved money quite a bit, and I know you didn’t exactly want anything, but I couldn’t not buy it.”

 

“Can you help me put it on?” she asks, smiling.

 

He grins, finally able to settle his nerves. “Of course.”

 

The entire time he wraps the necklace around her neck and hooks it up, his hands are shaking just a little bit because he’s just seen several emotions cross her face, most of which he’s rarely ever seen. (“You’re something of an open book.”) Emma’s green eyes are glossy when she turns back to face him, and he can’t help but lean in and kiss her gently.

 

He’d been intending to buy her something more, like those comics she’s eyed a while back, but with school work and the swimming practice he has so often, he hasn’t had the chance to go further into town and buy them for her. Besides, he can get those any times and spoil her then.

 

“Thank you,” she whispers. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever gotten before.”

 

He knows the _best_ means more than just the best, it means the _only_ thing she’s ever gotten before. Emma’s told him about how since she doesn’t get to celebrate her birthday, she doesn’t get presents, and even if she does, she’s simply ignored. Killian’s heart does ache for her because she’s grown up so alone while he at least has had Liam by his side all this time. And despite her nicer foster parents now, they don’t exactly do anything either.

 

“Anything for you, Emma.”

 

“Can we get through a bit more of the movie? I don’t like leaving it unfinished.”

 

He nods in agreement. “Aye, of course.”

 

So they get through _Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope_ before it’s finally getting late and he has to get going.

 

“Damn, it’s late,” she mutters, yawning promptly after.

 

He chuckles. “It is. But it was lovely time spent, Swan. Happy birthday, by the way, I sort of forgot to actually wish you that.”

 

She simply laughs and kisses him once more and he gives her a crushing hug, bidding her goodnight before getting in his car ( _Liam’s_ car) and drives off.

 

.~.

 

Dates are a topic they’ve broached a couple of times, but being in a small town, it’s hard to take someone out on a date and not be seen by anyone.

 

“You know I _hate_ surprises.”

 

“I believe you can make an exception on that, darling.”

 

Killian has this elaborate plan already, a picnic at this spot he’s found which is quite secluded from the rest of the town. The view of the sky is pure perfection, so tonight, he’s going to show her the stars and how he’s at least knowledgeable on this topic.

 

(Math and Sciences are just _not_ his thing.)

 

It takes a bit of effort to trek through the trees and bushes, but with the expression on her face when she sees it, he knows it’s worth it.

 

“A picnic? How much more old fashioned can you get?” she teases, smirking at him.

 

“How much more nerdier can my girlfriend get?”

 

She gapes at him before shaking her head in defeat. “Touché.”

 

So they sit on the large blanket he’d been able to procure and reaches for the food in the basket. A good portion is not eaten, so he stuffs is back in before he pats the spot next to him, telling her to lie down next to him. It’s gotten fairly dark now, the temperature a little cooler than when they first left the house, so he wraps his arm around her shoulders and tucks her into his side, letting her head rest on his chest.

 

“Constellations,” he begins, “know any?”

 

“No. Do you?”

 

“Aye, a fair bit thanks to Liam. Would you like me to educate you?”

 

“Sure.”

 

That’s when he begins to point at them and explain some origins. “Now, _that_ one is called Cygnus. Also known at the swan. Thought it’d be fitting for you to know about a swan since you are one yourself.”

 

They take a couple of moments to gather everything and get back to the car. And by the time he’s back at her house, she’s fallen asleep, her head resting against the window. He sighs, turning the engine off and getting out of the car, heading to the passenger’s side, opening the door, unbuckling her seatbelt and awkwardly managing to get her out by carrying her.

 

“Killian?”

 

“You’re home, lass,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’ll get you to bed.”

 

.~.

 

Rumours begin to spread quickly about _Killian Jones, the jock, was seen out with Emma Swan, the nerd_.

 

He gets constantly asked and he denies all of them, but the moment he sees Emma being cornered and surrounded in the cafeteria by groups of people, he _knows_ it’s time to step up. It was only about time until they’d be caught anyways, since it’s been a few months.

 

“Back off!” he shouts, pushing his way through the crowd. “Bloody hell, none of you have some decency.”

 

“So does that mean you’re together?”

 

He sighs and glances down at Emma who seems like she’s on the verge of yelling at everyone. Killian rests a hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze before taking in a deep breath and nodding, the gasps and whispers quickly floating around them.

 

“Aye, we are,” he answers firmly, to show that he’s not afraid. “We’re together. Does that satisfy you guys to know that us, what, _opposites_ , are together? Emma makes me happy, I make her happy. Isn’t that what’s important? She’s...helped me change into a better person. I don’t like to bully others or spread rumours; that’s bad form. Yes, we went on a date two days ago, just like what couples do, now can you all back off and leave my girlfriend alone?”

 

Someone scoffs. “Right.”

 

“If you want to go and bash someone, come to _me_. Leave her out of it,” Killian spits out, momentarily gripping onto Emma’s shoulder a little harder. He sighs and looks back down, softening his voice. “Sorry, love.”

 

“It’s fine,” she murmurs.

 

“So, everything about the way you’ve treated her lately has been fake?”

 

“Yeah, because we wanted to avoid situations like this, because I _knew_ people would want to come to her. I would’ve given my bloody reputation up, but I knew hiding it would’ve been a bit better for the both of us combined.”

 

He releases the tension from his shoulders the moment someone claps and everyone (mostly everyone) joins in. After everyone’s dispersed, he’s glad no teacher came in to ask about what happened.

 

“Thanks,” Emma whispers, burying her face into his neck.

 

It must have shaken her a bit to get _that_ much attention, but he rubs her back and sighs a quiet breath to let her know how he’s here with her. “Had to happen eventually. No worries, Swan, no one should be bothering us anymore.”

 

“I love you.”

 

He pauses from stroking her back, raising an eyebrow and looking at her with all the adoration he possibly can. “Aye, and I, you, Emma.”

 

He loves her, he  _really_  does, and no one around them matters to him, so long as he has her.


	67. burning like a fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6\. they're both college professors AU

Of course the first thing that happens when she gets to the office is run in with Killian Jones, fellow colleague in the English department, who of course, conveniently has his classroom placed two rooms left from hers, and that her office is literally a couple (three) _steps_ away from his (which hardly means anything). The downsides of this? He’s an utter asshole who doesn’t have a sense of personal space and will find the craziest ways to bother her because they aren’t exactly separated by much space in the first place.

 

“Good morning, Miss Swan.”

 

“Good morning, Mr. Jones,” she responds with a tight smile, already onto whatever he’s got in plan today. And she’s not exactly in the best mood to deal with him at the moment, not after when she nearly woke up late and she almost got hit by a red-light speeder.

 

“You seem a little grumpy today,” he says smugly, raising an eyebrow, his lips curled into that obnoxious smile of his when he _knows_ he has an advantage over her. “What’s gotten you in over your head today, lass?”

 

“Nothing to your concern, Jones,” she mumbles, gathering her papers into a pile, clipping it together with a black binder clip.

 

He chuckles, adjusting his black tie before rolling up the sleeves to his white dress shirt. Damn him and his attractive looks and how his suit is perfectly tailored to show off his _fantastic_ assets. Emma Swan is not blind but she is definitely claimed as the most stubborn person in the world (thanks to her friends), and Killian Jones is by far the most good looking guy she knows at work here at the University of Storybrooke.

 

“Shouldn’t you be preparing for your class? Can’t be ruining your...what did you call it, _perfect punctuality_ , now can you?”

 

Killian’s laughter is rich...but she doesn’t trust him, of course not. (Yes, she does.) “Now, now, Swan, I didn’t think you’d remember that considering last time you nearly lost track of time yourself.” He takes a sip from his own mug, presumably coffee as well, and leans forward. “Could have costed you a fair bit of _scolding_ from Miss Mills, don’t you think? And besides, everything has been prepared - I was simply awaiting the right moment to talk to you.”

 

“That was forever ago, I think you should let that go.” Then she rolls her eyes, moving to throw her cup of coffee that has been long finished into the recycling. “Anyways, what do you want with me now?”

 

“Perhaps _lunch_ , love.”

 

Emma narrows her eyes at him, folding her arms over her chest. “God, with you? I think you’re asking the wrong person.”

 

“No, I’m quite certain I’ve asked the right person.” He sighs, scratching behind his ear, the silence between them growing for a moment. “But no matter, you know I’ve always liked a challenge.”

 

It’s not often she feels so flustered or speechless, unable to form words to respond to people, but apparently Killian Jones is able to put her in that state. “Right...well…” she trails off, biting down on her bottom lip before glancing at the clock on the wall to avoid making eye contact with him. She knows the moment she does, seeing any sort of honesty or determination, she’ll cave and consider his offer. “I think we should get to class. We don’t want to leave out students waiting, right?”

 

He smiles and then his tongue darts out of his mouth for a fleeting second. “Aye, of course.”

 

.~.

 

She’s almost relieved to notice that the English department’s area seems fairly deserted at the moment, only a couple of students lingering in the hallways nearby during their spare time talking to other friends.

 

“There you are!”

 

She’s startled, jumping a nearly dropping her phone when she turns to find Killian glaring at her with a curious expression on his face. “Jones,” she begins, stuffing her phone back into her pocket, “it’s not nice of you to surprise me like that.”

 

“Sorry, Swan,” he apologizes, though it’s not exactly _sincere_ , a little teasing in his tone. “You thought you were alone, didn’t you?”

 

“Can’t kill a woman for wanting some alone time, can you?”

 

“Oh, perhaps not,” he drawls, taking a step closer to her. “But isn’t some company _far_ better?” Killian leans in on the balls of his feet to emphasize his point, and while she should be backing up, she’s not. “And who’s better company than I am, love?”

 

“I can think of plenty of people,” she manages to choke out, recovering quickly by clearing her throat to cover her little mess-up.

 

For a moment, she’s almost _sure_ he’s about to kiss her, but he misses her face and whispers into her ear, “ _Liar_.” Killian then leans back with his stupid raised eyebrow and cocky smirk. Fucking _bastard_. “Anyone ever tell you lying is bad? It surely isn’t good form.”

 

“Well, I think that’d depend on the situation, Mr. Jones.”

 

“Please humour me, Miss Swan, I’d love to get to know you better.”

 

“Perhaps another time.”

 

“I think -” he chuckles, _darkly_ , enough to cause her to shiver, “- now is the perfect time. Trying to avoid me is not an easy feat, love, so if you’d like to do so, I recommend you need to try a little harder than that.”

 

“What a _lovely_ suggestion,” she says. Is she _flirting_? She’s flirting. “I’ll consider it for _next time_.”

 

He grins, dark along with his chuckle from before. “Next time does sound lovely.”

 

.~.

 

 _Gods_ , he thinks, _she’s going to be the death of me_.

 

He’s always liked her, a woman with the bravery of a lion but the softness of a kitten. There is something about Emma Swan that makes him want to discover more about her. For one, she’s a spectacular teacher according to his fellow co-workers and other students, but that’s not even the most intriguing part about her. It’s just such a joy to get on her nerves, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to _stop_ until he gets what he wants.

 

Which is essentially just a date.

 

(And perhaps more.)

 

(Definitely more.)

 

Oh, but there are so many obstacles in the way he knows it’ll get a little nasty if he approaches this without fair game. Killian knows he’ll have to skip the _fair and square_ stuff and get right to the teasing because he’s definitely noticed her...ogling him more than once despite how she thinks she’s so subtle. But he won’t admit that to her, that’ll just ruin everything they’ve established so far. And the fact that she’s _finally_ flirted back, he knows he can’t put out the flame now.

 

It definitely is frustrating to deal with Emma, however, because every time he sees her in her work clothes, as beautiful as she is, he wonders how much more of a wonder she must be with all those layers discarded. Wonders how she’d react to her touch and the words he would likely whisper in her ear when she’s writhing beneath him.

 

So, his thoughts are _far_ from pure, but to be fair, she’s the only one he’s ever really had such vivid dreams and thoughts about before.

 

But, with all of this tension he feels just simply from restraining himself from overstepping boundaries, he’s only able to let it out by going to the local gym and fitting in a good workout. Everything’s going well, Will Scarlet helping him do a little boxing, going through a set of his weights, blowing off steam from the treadmill.

 

That is, everything is well _until_ the one person he doesn’t exactly want to see ends up in the gym with him. There goes his plan.

 

(He sort of doesn’t mind. Just sort of, though.)

 

“Are you _serious_?”

 

“Surprised to see me, Swan?” He smirks and sets his weights to the side, grabbing his bottle of water and taking a healthy chug out of it. “However, I’d say I’m surprised to see you here, but for some reason I’m not.”

 

“You seem like the sort of guy who works out, so no, I’m not surprised. But I was hoping to get away from everyone for today.”

 

“It appears we’ve come with similar interests.”

 

With a scoff, she whips her towel around dramatically. “Of course, popular Killian Jones wanting to avoid people despite how sociable he can be.”

 

“Sociable?” He huffs a laugh, wiping sweat off his forehead with his own towel. “Hardly.”

 

“Are we going to have to have a debate about all the reasons on how you are quite sociable?”

 

“Do you want to?”

 

“No.”

 

“Brilliant, neither do I.”

 

.~.

 

She’s not disappointed. Really, she’s not. Seeing him in orange gym shorts and in a blue t-shirt that sticks delightfully to his torso is _definitely_ the opposite of disappointment. If there’s one thing she knows, it’s that Killian Jones just gets much more attractive every time she sees him.

 

And today is no exception. But really, she’d intended to come to the gym the moment she’d inputted marks in and finalized them for the semester, but of course fate has set it’s way for her to run into _him_ who’s all sweaty and gross, but oddly making her the same just by seeing him in his post-exercise state. What’s worse is that he’s not even _done_ , so it means she’s got to share equipment around with him since no one else really comes to the gym.

 

They maintain little conversation while she’s stretching, her earbuds stuck into her ears as she listens to some music, but the sound of him and Will fighting it out in the ring is not helping her because her eyes keep _drifting_ off into directions she shouldn’t.

 

And _god damn it_ , he’s a co-worker, a colleague, a _friend_ , but she can’t help it. Emma can only resist the temptation for so long before she’s got to give in and look over at him.

 

What she is very much not prepared is for a smirking Killian Jones shooting her a look before throwing a punch at Will which hits the target. If he’s attempting to taunt her, then damn her to hell and back, she’s successfully falling right into his trap while she’s quite aware of it.

 

“Hey, Swan, want to throw a couple punches? You must want to!” he shouts from across the room.

 

She groans, not wanting to give into his offer or _any_ of this, but the moment she begins to pause her music and set her phone aside, she knows she’s just about put herself in her own corner.

 

Maybe punching his face will help.

 

Will gets her saddled up with everything. “Ready for some fightin’ now, lass?”

 

“To throw some punches at Joneses’ face? Yes, I am.”

 

Killian laughs from his spot in the ring. “Always so violent, darling, I love it.”

 

“I’m not so sure if you’ll love it when I bruise your pretty face.”

 

“So you acknowledge my devilishly handsome appearance, for that I am very flattered.” He stretches his arms a little and rolls his shoulders, the smirk still alive on his face, and _yes_ she is quite excited to get to punch it off his face.

 

(Or kiss him, but dear _god_ that is not a thought she needs in her life right now.)

 

The moment she’s ducked under the ropes and into the boxing ring, she knows it’s going to be a tough and rough fight. At least, if it’s any indication by how _loud_ he could punch against Will, well, she may just have put herself in a fucked up spot. As always.

 

Emma is stubborn though, and she’s not going to give up, not without a fight.

 

She puts up a fight, and the speed of his jabs are far quicker than her own (and stronger), she can admit that.

 

“What’s the matter, love, can’t keep up?” he teases, hitting her directly in the side, _almost_ in the ribs.

 

It hurts, but it doesn’t hurt enough for her to flinch, but she’s sure a bruise will show up by the next morning anyways. “In your dreams,” she mutters, heaving a heavy breath and shoving a punch toward him. Except, of course he traps her arm and won’t let go, causing her to struggle while he laughs in that idiotic victorious matter of his. “Right, like I’d let you win,” she grumbles, pulling back forcefully, stumbling back to hit the ropes, him doing the same.

 

He nods curtly. “Of course not, I know you’re a determined one.”

 

“And I know you enjoy a challenge.”

 

“Then give me a challenge, _sweetheart_.”

 

It’s not even anger that flares up in the base of her stomach, but whatever it is, she really knows how to act on impulse and screw up _again_ , leading to everything being much of a blur by the time everything happens, her back hitting the padded floor with a loud _thump_ and him kneeling at her sides, being right on top of her abdomen, his hands pinning her arms down.

 

He smirks smugly. “Normally, I prefer to do other more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back. But, I suppose this will do.”

 

Emma’s breathing in short pants and she licks her lips, closing her eyes and practically admitting defeat. (And damn him for saying _that_ in _that_ voice.) But the way he’s practically _straddling_ her is distracting, once again, along with his statement.

 

Eventually, after a moment too long, he stands up and offers her a hand which she takes even though she debated on whether to take it or not. “You win,” she huffs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

 

“That I did.”

 

There’s a gloating timbre to his voice and Emma is holding herself back from wanting to punch him. Without warning.

 

.~.

 

He’d been so sorely prepared to realize he’d win since he’d only acted on instinct and forgot he’d been fighting the colleague he has a major interest on. So of course pinning her down and being on _top_ of her encourages some rather dirty thoughts.

 

 _Again_.

 

At least he’s managed to keep himself intact.

 

.~.

 

“My students are gossiping about how Miss Swan called Mr. Jones a _pretentious colleague who has no sense of personal space_.”

 

Emma widens her eyes and nearly laughs, but she manages to stay calm. “Oh, really?”

 

“Aye, _really_.”

 

She grins and sips on her water, her other hand spinning a pen. “Don’t know what your students are gossiping about then, Jones.”

 

“Ah, the lies are back.” He chuckles and shuts her office door behind him, walking closer toward her. “I told you, love, that lying is indeed bad form.”

 

“So is the fact that my students are gossiping. Gossiping about how Mr. Jones called Miss Swan a _talented woman who however doesn’t know how to throw a punch_.”

 

“Now I do _not_ know what they’re talking about.”

 

Raising an eyebrow, she stands up to level with him. “Really, _Killian_?”

 

“Really, _Emma_.”

 

He’s too close now that she has to tilt her head up a little to look at him. She can’t _handle_ him, all pompous and everything, but damn does she want to just pull him against her and kiss him until she can’t breathe any longer. It’s one thing to think about it, but another when she actually _does_ , and he eagerly responds, his arms wrapping around her waist and hoisting her up and onto her desk.

 

She’s sure she’s just sat on a bunch of papers (useless ones, anyways).

 

And kissing Killian Jones has exceeded all possible expectations she’s had. His lips are so soft and _firm_ at the same time, and how his tongue moves with hers... _fuck_ , she is really going to regret this. Maybe. Possibly. She’s not sure.

 

She doesn’t know what to do anymore. Any sense of proper justification for kissing him has just been thrown out the window and he calls out all of her lies, she stands no chance. She could just run away, but she can’t really avoid him, not when they literally work so close to each other and go to the same gym, and the town is not really large enough to avoid someone unless she camps out at home and is extremely cautious about what public place she’ll go to.

 

But even then with all this logical explanation trying to work itself out in her head, she’s completely enraptured by him, by his _touch_.

 

Emma sighs into the kiss and he playfully bites at her upper lip, his hands spreading out across her back.

 

“Bloody hell,” he breathes out, pressing his forehead against hers and bumping her nose.

 

“I think that would’ve happened at some point.”

 

He chuckles. “Aye, I believe so, too. So...is it possible I can take you out for lunch now, love? Or perhaps dinner?”

 

“Perhaps _both_.”

 

“Both sounds... _lovely_.”

 


	68. for so long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 28\. “You make two lunches every morning and give one of them to me every day” AU.

He catches sight of her the first time she walks into the classroom, but the first time he actually talks to her, it’s because she doesn’t have a lunch and she’s just sitting against the wall with her knees drawn up to her chest.

 

For a moment, he hesitates, but then he takes steps forward and introduces himself.

 

“Emma Swan,” she responds softly.

 

He smiles, crouching down next to her. “Need a lunch?”

 

“No, I don’t,” she says, refusing his offer. “I can’t take it from you.”

 

“It’s okay, I have some snacks.” He brings out an apple, granola bar, and juice and offers it to Emma. “Sometimes I get hungry after school while I wait for my brother to pick me up. Here, you can take it. Can’t have you starving during class, can you?”

 

Killian soon understands she’s an orphan like him, her family at the moment not so caring about packing her a lunch. All he knows is that he feels bad for her, that at least Liam takes care of him and loves him. But Emma Swan is a stubborn little girl (honestly much like him), yet she’s kind and quiet, a reserved type who doesn’t like to talk that much with other children. At least, besides him.

 

“Thank you,” she murmurs, throwing the empty juice box into the recycling.

 

“You’re welcome.” He grins, packing his stuff up. “Let’s get in line for class.”

 

She’s a little reluctant, but she nods with a small smile. “Okay.”

 

.~.

 

“Liam!”

 

“Hey, little brother.” Liam ruffles his hair and Killian pouts a little, just as his brother takes his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “How was your day, lad?”

 

“Good. I think I made a new friend!” he exclaims enthusiastically, taking his older brother’s hand. “Her name is Emma, she’s -” he looks around for her, seeing her sitting on the steps of the front of the school, “- she’s right there. On the steps. She’s an orphan; like us.”

 

Liam looks over at her and frowns, then turning his head back to him. “Is she? How did you meet?”

 

That’s when Killian shuts up, quite literally, scratching behind his ear and sighing quietly. “She didn’t have a lunch. I gave her the snacks you packed me today and we talked.” Killian shrugs, turning back to look at Emma from the distance. “She’s sad.”

 

“She sure looks like it.”

 

“Can I go say goodbye to her?”

 

“Aye, we can do that.”

 

He drags his brother by the hand back toward Emma and she visibly perks up and smiles a little to cover her frown.

 

“Hi, Killian.”

 

He pants a little from the running, but he can’t help but smile, beaming at her that she can meet his brother. “Hi, Emma. This...this is my older brother, Liam.”

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma,” Liam says quietly, crouching down in front of her with a smile. “My little brother here told me lots about you.”

 

“Really?”

 

Liam nods. “Really, lass.”

 

.~.

 

He doesn’t know what to call the feeling, but it feels like something _more_ than sadness when he has to say goodbye to Emma. But he and his older brother at least leave a smile on her face before they left, so that’s a good thing.

 

It’s just that while he’s unpacking the plastic box that carries his lunch, Killian frowns a little and remembers how she seemed so lonely, like she doesn’t even want to be at school. It’s this odd feeling in his belly that he can’t pinpoint, so when he hands Liam his lunch bag, he comes forth with a request.

 

“Can you make two tomorrow morning?”

 

“You want to give one to Emma, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah.” Killian nods, a little eagerly. “It just...I don’t think she’ll be having lunches with her foster family. I want to be a good friend.”

 

“Good form, little brother, good form,” Liam insists with a smile, patting his shoulder. “Don’t give up on her, okay? She’s like us and she needs a family, and you can be that for her if you be a fantastic, supportive friend. And I’ll make two servings so you can share with her.”

 

Killian breaks into a large grin, giddy and happy and impatient. He can’t wait to give Emma a _proper_ lunch tomorrow. “Yes! Thank you!”

 

“Now go do your homework.”

 

“There is _no_ homework. It’s the first day of school.”

 

.~.

 

“You and Liam did this?”

 

“I asked him. He made it.” Killian shrugs and shoves the sandwich and juice toward her a little more. “Eat it.”

 

And that’s how it goes for the next few months, he brings an extra lunch every day to share with her, and it’s enough to put a smile on her face and to befriend her, which of course, is enough for Killian. Really, all he wants is to be friends for her. To give her _family_ that she doesn’t have.

 

.~.

 

By seventh grade he’s making his own lunches since Liam has work, and he thinks back to grade four when he’d asked Liam to do it. But now, packing his own lunch has benefits of course - not that he actually takes advantages of any of that. There’s just not enough time and money to be spent with doing that.

 

“Swan, here you go.”

 

She raises an eyebrow and glances down at what he’s offering her, all while he’s smiling leaning against his locker which is just conveniently set next to hers.  “Thanks, Killian,” she murmurs, taking it and putting it in the bag in her locker. “We’re still up to work on that project tonight, right?”

 

“Aye, of course. We make quite the team, don’t we?”

 

Emma chuckles, slamming her locker shut (the old things), locking it. “Yeah, we do.”

 

Things have gotten better for her a little bit, that apparently her _real_ , biological parents have found her and they’re living in Storybrooke as well. Except they haven’t met and she’s not sure if she _wants_ to meet them...yet. Killian knows she’s always been pretty insecure about it, worried that meeting them will just feel more like disappointment, that she’ll have so many parents, that maybe they won’t even _like_ her.

 

He never knows what to say to that, but he remembers one thing and he assures her of it.

 

He’s going to remain family with her, no matter what happens.

 

.~.

 

They’re growing fast.

 

They’re in high school in no time, best friends, inseparable, really. School sports. Study buddies. _Everything_. (Mostly.)

 

Liam keeps teasing him about having feelings for Emma, but Killian simply insists that she’s only his best friends, that any sort of relationship beyond being a platonic friendship, will ruin things. That’s his reasoning and he’s sticking with it. And even if he... _does_ have feelings for her, this bond between them is too precious, too _special_ to be broken over some romantic emotions that could fade away easily within a period of time.

 

“You know, I can make my own lunches.”

 

He shakes his head. “Traditions, love. Gotta keep them going, don’t you think?”

 

“You’re an idiot.”

 

“Yet you _befriended_ the idiot.” He grins and throws his arm over her shoulders. “Come on, Swan, let’s get going before someone else steals our spot for lunch.”

 

“No one’s going to _steal_ our spot, Killian.”

 

Killian chuckles. “Oh, you can’t be too sure about that.”

 

“Dramatic loser,” she mutters teasingly.

 

Scrunching his face up, he mocks pain all while she’s laughing. “Oi!”

 

.~.

 

“Little brother -”

 

“ _Younger_.”

 

“Killian,” Liam says, settling for his name. “You’ve known her forever, you know she may slip away if you don’t tell her how you feel.”

 

Killian sighs, running a hand through his hair, sinking onto the couch. “Aye, I’m aware. But she doesn’t see me more than a friend. I can’t just...confess my love for her and expect her to feel the same, Liam. What we have going is already satisfying enough, I don’t need my own petty feelings to break us apart even further.”

 

“Do you love her?”

 

He gulps, closing his eyes and nodding. “Aye.”

 

“Tell her. Trust me, every time you’re together, she looks completely _besotted_ with you, little brother. I’m sure she feels the same.”

 

.~.

 

After months of worrying and contemplation, he tells her how he feels, and it feels like the weight of a million planets have just vanished off his shoulders. It only gets better when she says she feels the same. It’s new to them, being _together_ , even though they’ve essentially been together but not together since they’ve been children.

 

“This is the one,” she whispers one day, standing in the living room of an apartment they want to rent for college.

 

“Then we get this one.”

 

When they’re all moved in, he couldn’t be any happier. They have their bad days, their fights, but he loves her without a drop of doubt. Through every argument, through every bit of pain and sadness, he _loves_ her with all of his soul, blood and bones, his heart, his entire being.

 

They still sleep in separate rooms, but sometimes one or the other will stumble into the other’s bed. Sometimes she’ll slide beneath the covers and curl into his chest and he’ll hold onto her for dear life because _god_ he cannot lose her, no, he’d die along with her the moment he does. What he endeavours for, is simply happiness and joy between them, for her to love the present and look forward to their future.

 

On the days they have classes, he’ll still make her a lunch or compose some snacks together and hand it over to her.

 

On the days he returns from his part-time job when he’s not at school, she’ll have some dinner prepared already sitting on the table for him while she’s in the washroom, taking a shower. The first time, though, he sees a sticky note just stuck next to the food.

 

_I think it’s about time I pay you back for all those times you gave me a lunch._

 

.~.

 

“I’ve ran away enough, I think I should meet them.”

 

“Are you sure, love?” he asks, holding her closely and running his hand through her hair. “You know we only have to take things one step at a time.”

 

“I’ve wondered too much. It’s about time.”

 

“Would you like me to accompany you, then?”

 

“Yeah,” she answers, tilting her head back to look up at him. “We can tell them how we met.”

 

.~.

 

“I’ve just been making two lunches every morning and giving one to her every day.”

 

“Well, technically…”

 

“Swan! Don’t ruin a man’s moments, you know if I could actually _reach_ the counter as a child, I would have prepared the food myself. Sandwiches are the simplicity of life, I’m sure nine year old me could have managed.”

 

Mary Margaret laughs and nudges David. “I think they’re perfect together.”

 

“Yeah?” David asks, wrapping his own arm around his wife’s.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good, I don’t intend to let your daughter down; or go,” he assures her parents, slipping his fingers with Emma’s and intertwining them, giving her hand a squeeze. “And I’ll make sure she’s never famished without a lunch.”

 

.~.

 

He has everything planned.

 

It’s _perfect_. Her message of: _I got the job!_ is only part of the reason why he has this all so preciously planned out for things to go right.

 

A meal for lunch, but no less than a big occasion right now.

 

He just hopes -

 

“Killian?”

 

He looks up from his spot in the room, finding her with her eyebrows furrowed while she drops her phone onto the counter. “Emma,” he murmurs, “uh - erm, well...I thought we could celebrate you getting the job, love. I didn’t think you’d be home so fast.”

 

“Oops?” She shrugs and laughs, breathlessly, before moving to wrap her arms around him, him stumbling a few steps. “Thank you.”

 

“I’m proud of you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple and hugging her tightly. “How about you go change and I’ll get everything ready?”

 

That’s when he plunges his hand into his pocket and takes the box out, removing the ring and sticking it back into his pocket, while putting the box behind her bowl of steaming soup. It’s his plan of setting her up to take the surprise. The entire time feels like he’s screwing up though, all nervous and giddy. It feels like he’s nine again, asking Liam to make an extra portion of lunch...except he plans to propose to her. To become _his_.

 

So he waits for the right time, waits for her to sit down while they talk casually. When her eyes widen at the blue velvet box, she looks up, but he’s already moved from his seat to kneel beside her (he’d be damned if he can’t do that right), fishing the ring out of his sweater pocket.

 

“Killian…”

 

“You know, the first time we met -” he laughs, biting his lower lip, pushing out the nervousness, “- I was a young, naive little lad who wanted to be friends. And then we became best friends for several years, and...and selfish me got greedy by some point when we were older. I wanted _more_ with you, and I believed I had lost my sanity if I wanted to burn any bridges between us. Yet, we worked it out. We felt the same. But here I am now, Swan, _madly in love_ with you, and I don’t think I can survive another day with _just_ being boyfriend and girlfriend. I’m being selfish again, I want you _forever_ , Emma. Will you marry me?”

 

“Uh…” She coughs, nodding, seemingly overwhelmed. “Yes,” she breathes, squeezing her eyes shut while she smiles. “Yes.”

 

He grins and slips the ring, a simple diamond on a silver band, nothing spectacular, onto her finger. Killian pulls her up and meets her halfway for a kiss, passionate but loving and _damn_ he feels so good. He feels like he’s on fire. And Emma, god, his beautiful, lovely, brilliant Emma.

 

“Forget lunch,” he murmurs, kissing her again, “for once. I’m sure we’ll be starving _after_ some enjoyable activities.”

 


	69. assassins, not vigilantes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10\. 'my apologies upon closer inspection it turns out you are not the person i was hired to kill.’ au.

"Vigilante?”

 

He chuckles, spinning the pistol around on his fingers. "Sorry, mate, but I prefer _assassin_. But vigilante all the same."

 

Thank the heavens he has a place to kill off these high profile con-artists without being found. It's easy for him to bring them back to his ship, sail off with them still unconscious or tied up, interrogate them a bit, take them out, and then dump their bodies into the ocean after tying a heavy source to them so they're sure to sink. It's not the most... _safe_ way to dispose of bodies when these people go missing, but Killian only does this sometimes when he's _sure_ no one will follow him back.

 

"So, _assassin_ , what information could you possibly want out of me?"

 

Grinning, he stops spinning the gun and points it at the man tied on a chair in the dark warehouse, a single light shining over his face. "Perhaps you could...leak some information on Richard Ambrose."

 

"That sorry excuse of a man?" The guy scoffs, coughing out a bit of blood. Killian _may_ have had to use a bit of brute force to get him to sit still earlier. "All I know is that he's hosting some...I don't know, gigantic party at his house sometime this week. His wife, some blonde, is going to be there with him in celebration over something. That's all I know."

 

"Oh?" _Fucking christ it's getting hot in here_. "Any information on his wife besides that she's a blonde? There can be plenty of blondes. Apologies, I prefer something less vague."

 

He shrugs. "Like I'd know. I think she has green eyes. And I'm sure you'd catch her hovering around Ambrose anyways. Now can I go?"

 

"Aye," Killian whispers, coming forth. "You can go to hell for all the illegal things you've done, Mr. Winchester."

 

He catches the man's fear, the anger on his face just as he pulls the trigger (good god for silencers to at least mute the weapon's shot some more), he bullet heading straight between his eyes. Killian closes his eyes and sighs, knowing that Winchester deserved death, but even after years of killing people off, he's not so used to it still. The aftermath always consists of a buzz through his bones and the face they make before death, their expression engraved into Killian's memory.

 

Slowly putting his gun back into the holster beneath his leather jacket, he makes his way out of the warehouse, letting Winchester rot. That is, until someone discovers the reek of a decomposing body and a man with a bullet between his eyes.

 

.~.

 

Getting a well-tailored suit and an invitation is an easy feat for Killian Jones, and blending in is not much of a difficult task to complete either. A man like him...he's a man who is perceived as normal as any other regular human being, but beyond that basic layer of him, he's _The Captain_ , some bloody nickname according to the law enforcement. He is a man of many talents; the culinary arts, performing delicate surgeries (or any medical task), sailing, martial arts...generally intelligent, according to most.

 

He is a private assassin, only working for those who he deems trustworthy, and of course, the payment is quite important as well.

 

Killian nurses a glass of wine he's not actually going to drink, fitting in with the crowd of rich, stuck-up humans. It's not long before he catches the flash of blonde hovering near Richard Ambrose. If she's participating in Richard Ambrose's illegal political affairs, then she's going down with him. Spares the pain of sorrow and grief anyways if she dies along with him.

 

It'll be easier to remove his wife first, so she's the first target on his watch.

 

Damn is he _glad_ that security is much looser than he expected, plus, there's too many people to see if anyone seems suspicious in the first place, Ambrose has simply made Killian's job easier along the way - he'll be sure to thank the man before killing him off. Best to let a man speak before he perishes anyways, confess what he's done or simply remain stubborn, well, that's up to the man himself.

 

When his target starts to move, he notices her set her glass down and whisper something into her husband's ear before walking off. "Excuse me, sir, could you point me toward the restrooms?" Killian politely asks.

 

Wow, is it so easy to get past _that_.

 

He follows her, discretely. The mansion is large, of course (rich people), while he trails behind the blonde wearing an elegant black dress that hugs her body in a delightful way. It is no wonder she is married. If not for her personality, than for her body.

 

Luckily, she does not catch him.

 

Except, everything is a turn of events when he pushes her up against the wall behind closed doors, her eyes staring into his without any sense of surprise or fright. _This is wrong_ , Killian surmises, clenching his jaw as he gazes deeply into her green eyes. Either she is unafraid of him _and_ death, or she's not who she's shown herself to be. Honestly, he's really just assuming it's the latter by this point.

 

"Well, it's good to know -" she inhales a sharp breath as he presses his arm harder against her neck, "- that I was not wrong about who you are."

 

"And who exactly am I, milady?"

 

"Well, _The Captain_ , of course." She smiles, something sweet but deceiving. "I knew I was being followed.”

 

That smile is when he knows she is not Mrs. Ambrose. He pulls back away and lets her live, but a man like him does not allow himself to let his guard down, especially around someone just as equally dangerous as he can be when enraged or willing to fight. "Apologies, love, upon closer inspection...you are not the person I was even hired to target."

 

"I'm sure that's true." She laughs a little, straightening out her dress and rolling her shoulders. "We're both after the same person, I assure you."

 

"So, you are not his wife at all? A plaything? Secret spy?"

 

"Accurate deduction of not being his wife..." The woman rubs her forehead. "Okay, I thought this would be easier but I don't exactly want to call you _Captain_ , so..."

 

He chuckles. "Jones, call me Jones. And who is the fair maiden?"

 

"Swan."

 

Killian takes a minute to himself, only analysing this _Swan_ in front of him. Her vibe is different, he can tell himself, and she seems reliable despite everything that's happened between them in the last ten minutes.

 

"Accurate deduction, Jones, but I was...how do you put it? _Hired_ , to play as his significant other, though I harbour nothing but a sense of duty to kill him tonight in bed, but I suppose since you're here, we can get this done easier and quicker." She strolls over to one of the wooden drawers, unlocking it and pulling out a weapon. "I'm nothing less than who you are. An assassin of the sorts, but it's easier to put my...appearance to use. And acting and lying."

 

"Aye, of course, you are a beautiful lass, I see why they must've asked you to play as his wife," he says, agreeing with her because really, she is gorgeous and lovely, but even as deadly as any other assassin out there. "What exactly are you offering, love?"

 

"Teamwork, I guess."

 

"And how exactly do you plan to work together and kill him off? Your disappearance for this length of time must be making him suspicious by now, that is, unless whatever you whispered in his ear was to settle his doubts and let him enjoy his night of celebration."

 

Swan sticks some knives on the insides of her dress (he wonders how a lady must manage _that_ ), before she turns to him, her expression somewhat amused, but mostly flat. "I can distract him. You can kill him. Later tonight, that is. This party is too large of a crowd, someone is bound to find out if we did it in plain sight - unless you have something to poison his drink with, we're stuck with waiting it out."

 

"I'm not so patient when it comes to killing off my targets. What if...I use my charms on you and make you seem unfaithful? I'm sure he'd want to...privately discuss those matters with you."

 

"If this doesn't work, we stick to my plan."

 

"I'd be kicked out, surely, unless I can convince him to stay." Killian licks his lips, cautious of the deals he's making, no matter how believable she may be right now. "Try something new, darling, it's called _trust_."

 

"The last time I trusted someone, it nearly costed my entire life to be spent in a jail cell. Don't think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second."

 

With a huff of a breath, his lips curl up into a smile. "I would despair if you did."

 

.~.

 

He learns that this _Swan_ is a stubborn, fierce woman, one that follows her own rules. But like himself, he can see the loneliness in her eyes. And orphan knows an orphan. Liam is _gone_ , along with his parents. The most he has are some friends which he occasionally hangs out with at the pub, but given his busy schedule with killing people, he’s not granted much leisure time.

 

“You know, Swan, I wasn’t lying when I said you were bloody beautiful,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes low and on her while being wary of their surroundings.

 

“Yeah, I know,” she responds, a smile playing at her lips like a dance. “Let me let you in on something...I have this, well, _superpower_. I can tell when someone’s lying.”

 

Killian hums, quite impressed because he knows _she’s_ not lying about her superpower. “Impressive.”

 

“You’re not going to challenge me on that?”

 

“Why should I challenge that when I believe you?” he questions, raising an eyebrow. Just by searching her face, he soon understands why she’s wondering why he doesn’t counter her statement. “Ah, so you’ve been doubted multiple times. Well, believe _me_ when I say I believe you, there’s nothing more in you but a strong woman.”

 

“Do you flirt with every woman?”

 

“Unless it has to come with the job -” he purses his lips and shakes his head, “- no.”

 

“Then let me say, you clean up quite nicely in your suit, Jones.”

 

“Thank you, love.” He grins and takes one tiny sip from his glass of wine before setting it aside, stepping closer when he notices Ambrose’s eyes on them. “Your...husband is watching us.”

 

“Let him,” she breathes.

 

“Is he the jealous type?” he asks softly.

 

“No,” is her stern answer. “But he doesn’t dare let me get close to other men in case I converse with...people like you, but that’s a secret between you and I. He doesn’t need to know who I am.”

 

He chuckles, shaking his head gently. “Pity.” Killian picks up her hand, treating her with the utmost delicacy, and kisses the top of it before letting it down. “I was hoping to steal the lovely Swan for myself.”

 

“I’m my own person, thanks,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes playfully. Her declaration of being her own person is serious, however. “Alright, he’s coming, isn’t he?”

 

Taking the subtle glance over her shoulder, he nods. “Aye.”

 

“Time to get this show on the road. Follow my lead...or whatever.”

 

Richard Ambrose, gentleman at scene but definitely not behind the curtains. Killian notices his smile is supposed to be of the gentle nature, but since he’s been talking to Swan for the past while, the man’s dark eyes hold a sense of anger.

 

It must be working, that Swan seems unfaithful to her actual job.

 

“And who are you?”

 

No one knows _The Captain’s_ real name anyways, so he doesn’t hesitate to answer, “Killian Jones.”

 

“He’s a friend I invited, Richard,” Swan says.

 

“Well, Mr. Jones, may I steal my wife away for a second to speak?”

 

“Aye, Mr. Ambrose, of course you may. Apologies if I stepped over any lines.” At least, he’s _trying_ to make his apology seem as sincere as possible, even if he isn’t. “It was a pleasure speaking to you, Mrs. Ambrose.”

 

.~.

 

Easy as pie, as they’d say, getting Ambrose knocked out.

 

Swan is a force to be reckoned with.

 

Killian wipes the used knife on the bedroom fur carpet. “Well, that was far easier than I thought.”

 

She laughs. “He’s finally dead. God, I couldn’t have handled playing his stupid wife any longer. So, you up for a run?”

 

“Escape plan, I assume.”

 

Her smile is enough for him to follow her out from the back, unable to resist his own smile as well.

 

.~.

 

“Got a nasty bruise on your arm there.”

 

She glances down and groans, bringing a hand up to her face, rubbing her eyes. “Right, well he was a bit of a resistant asshole when I first hit him on the side of the hide.”

 

“Sorry, my dashing rescue had been delayed by a security guard questioning where I was going. Had to say I drank too much wine and nature called.” He chuckles, anchoring the ship down. It’s a good while away from the pier, no one should come looking for them. Besides, they’d have to be aware of who to find. “Did Ambrose ever know your real name?”

 

“No, that would make things like escaping his underdogs difficult.”

 

“Bloody brilliant, then.”

 

Her shrug is casual. “And your name, you gave it out earlier when you introduced yourself -”

 

“Killian Jones _is_ my name,” he confirms, shedding the suit jacket and loosening his tie. “Now you know the real identity of _The Captain_.”

 

“I’m so flattered,” she says sarcastically. “I suppose I owe you my name.” He doesn’t say anything, letting her speak, of course he’s not opposed to the idea of knowing who she is. “I’m Emma Swan.”

 

.~.

 

They keep meeting each other on the chance that they’re after the same targets. And they always, well _mostly_ , end the same way. As a team.

 

( _“We make quite the team, you and I.”_

 

_“And what’s that supposed to mean?”_

 

 _He grins. “I propose we work as one, then. Safer, quicker...really, many benefits, darling.”_ )

 

It takes months of working together before it becomes official.

 

Of course, because of working as a team, he’d had to resign from his position from working under Gold (no matter how much the old man put up a fight,) and moved to work under Regina Mills, who is _much_ more of a gracious boss than Gold. Their teamwork is perfect, and Regina has put them under more combat training.

 

It’s why she has a black eye and sprained ankle, and he has two broken ribs and a pounding headache in the infirmary.

 

“You told me not to hold back!”

 

“Oh, for the love of _god_ , calm your voice,” he mutters, rubbing his forehead with an impatient sigh. “I did, however I didn’t expect myself to end up with two broken ribs and this bloody headache from my head hitting the floor.”

 

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s quite alright, love,” he mumbles.

 

“I’ll...hold back a little next time - to prevent this from happening again. Just get your rest.”

 

“Aye, aye, Miss Swan.”

 

.~.

 

An entire month later when they’re in a crowded bar with the music blasting, they lock eyes on the target and share a glance.

 

But the man, oh, he’s not alone, he’s got eyes on him everywhere. They know when it’s a fight they cannot win, but they’d be suspicious if they just leave directly after his entrance.

 

“Guess we’re gonna have to give ‘em a reason to leave.”

 

It takes him only a second to figure out what she means.

 

“Swan -”

 

And then she’s got her lips on his and pressing him up against the side of the wall, her hands on his face and he _loses_ his sense of being a gentleman. There’s no bit of control left in him with her kissing him for the first time like this. Of course Killian’s imagined it for a long time now, he is a man with his own affections toward women, but he’s never intended for them to kiss under these circumstances in a dingy, loud bar.

 

He breathes her in while his hand tangles into her hair, sifting through her silky curls, his other hand falling to her lower back. And this isn’t even a show anymore, not if the way she’s kissing him means anything. Emma’s tongue is

 

Killian feels utterly _wrecked_ when she pulls away with a smirk on her lips. She knows; knows exactly what she’s doing to him if the hardness between his legs is any indication to her.

 

“Let’s go,” she whispers.

 

Killian Jones a dead man.

 

.~.

 

To think Emma Swan isn’t a woman who mixes business with pleasure.

 

Damn, was he wrong.

 

“Well that was -”

 

“Unbelievably fantastic?” Well, he’s not wrong there.

 

She laughs, rolling onto her side, poking his ribs; him flinching at the touch. “Was going to say ‘better than expected,’ but that works too.”

 

“Satisfied then, darling?”

 

“ _Very_.”

 

He’s about to ask her something else, nothing important though, just as Killian sees her eyelids drop and her breaths begin to even out, he decides against it. The soft glow of the light of the lamp shines against her pale skin. Reaching over, he turns it off and settles back into the bed, letting himself slip his arm over her waist and pull her closer to him, pressing a gentle kiss into her hair.

 

There used to be nothing but business and professionalism in their relationship. He knows there’s more to it now, something still fresh and new, but he’s willing to try.

 

That is...as long as he isn’t killed. Or she.

 

For now, he won’t think about the possible conclusions.

 


	70. drowning out the sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20\. strangers who end up on the kiss cam at a sporting event.

 “Do I have to?”

 

“Come on, Emma,” David pleads, waving the spare ticket in thin air. “Going alone is boring.”

 

“I’m not even good company at this, I think that’d be equally boring,” she reasons, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why do you even have a spare anyways?”

 

He shrugs. “I won them. What was I supposed to do, just take the one?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Emma,” he whines.

 

David _never_ does this, but it appears like she won’t be getting out of this unless she goes with him. There’s no, other choice for her to give in and go with him, and that’s what he does, she gives in.

 

.~.

 

Not her idea to come to a basketball match. David dragged her with his extra ticket. Now he’s at the washroom and she’s alone and ultimately: _bored_.

 

The crowd is loud and she’s personally never liked being in noisy places for an extended period of time, but she can’t just ditch her best friend for her own selfish reasons. So she sits through it, deals with the chatter and the sport she doesn’t give a shit about.

 

The lines must be long here, so she doesn’t really worry about how long he’s taking to head to the washroom, but she does worry about why everyone is suddenly cheering when the game is on a quick break. Everyone’s turned to her and the guy next to her and she blinks dumbly before she looks up at the screen. _Kiss Cam_ plastered as a title across the top.

 

She’s got nothing better to do nor object, so when she looks over at the guy, he shrugs with a smirk and she tugs him forward by the lapels of his leather jacket, one hand moving to the back of his head, hand buried in his dark hair. One of his hands slide to her jaw, his thumb brushing over her skin gently, still sending a spark down her spine.

 

She doesn’t remember where she is, she doesn’t hear the cheers and laughter around her, for now, she’s _drowning_ in the way he’s kissing her, all passion and just reality. God, who the _fuck_ gave a stranger like him the damn way to kiss like this?

 

(But hey, the crowd is _wild_.)

 

Her fingers dig gently into his scalp and he bites at her lower lip playfully a little bit, and this is turning into an _entire make-out session_ , not that she cares.

 

(She also shouldn’t care about sex if he can kiss like this, but Emma Swan is Emma Swan, and well, her mind goes there too on the occasion when someone like him can kiss so well.)

 

When she pulls back, she’s utterly destroyed from the kiss as he is. She smiles at him - not uttering a single word, still trying to catch her own breath. He’s saved her the embarrassment, she’ll thank him for that later, but she does know she’s got a good story to tell now.

 

“Killian Jones,” he says over the loud ruckus of the crowd.

 

“Emma Swan.”

 

“Well, Swan, you’re one hell of a kisser,” he compliments with a devilish grin, a raised eyebrow accompanying it all.

 

She chuckles. “So are you.”

 

It’s funny that she _just_ kissed a stranger and now they’re conversing in a conversation like they’re friends, discussing nothing else but how neither of them really care for the game but are here with other people to keep company. It turns out he’s here with his older brother, Liam, and then he learns she’s here with her best friend, David.

 

Honestly, she’s not very bothered about being at this basketball game anymore. But every time the next kiss cam is up with a new victim, she can’t help but blush and remember that they’ve met through it.

 

Is it possible to already like someone so much based on their touch and their kiss? If so, Emma Swan _knows_ Killian Jones is someone she wants to get to know.

 

“Made a new friend, did you?” David asks when he returns from his trip to both the washroom and food court.

 

Emma bites her lower lip and nods. “On...unusual circumstances.”

 

“What does _that_ mean?”

 

“Means we kissed, mate,” Killian says with a (fucking smug) smile. “Bloody kiss cam aimed right at us while you were gone.”

 

“ _Oh_.” David takes a long bite from his hot dog. “Well it would’ve been better than me kissing her. She’s my best friend, I don’t think it’s ideal if I was here and had to kiss her.” After that awkwardness, he introduces himself, “I’m David Nolan, by the way.”

 

“Killian Jones.”

 

.~.

 

She’s not sure if it’s just luck or something, but any time she’s at a sports event which has a kiss cam, she always ends up on there.

 

But at least all she has to do is just turn to her side and kiss Killian because _damn_ they don’t need an excuse to kiss, but it’s a good way to get some of her tension out, his hand always coming up to the side of her face to cup her cheek, or to tangle in her hair. And it really just gives her the excitement to drag him by the collar of his shirt or pull on his jacket lapels until their lips meet.

 

They’re not strangers anymore.

 

But David always groans, or Ruby always _awws_ , and Victor always says _get a fucking room, guys, have some decency, we’re in public_. But it’s safe to say that neither of them ever heeds Victor’s pleads, and the erupted clapping and shouts says otherwise, so...sorry, Vic.

 

It’s after a few more times do they stop inviting them to go see games. Not that she cares, neither does he. Both of them are quite content in simply sitting in each other’s company.

 

And one day, Emma does learn how much better Killian is in bed. She wasn’t wrong in terms of guessing how he’d take his time with her. (“Want to get ravished now, love?”) Emma was never much of a waiting person after her patience drops, but she can never choose a favourite between their sessions. She can never decide if his fast pace and dirty talking and lips _everywhere_ is better than the slowness of him dragging it out and whispering his love to her.

 

(She loves both.)

 

.~.

 

He kisses her the moment she walks into the house, newly renovated after he’d insisted he’d work on it with some of his friends.

 

“What was that for?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

“I quite enjoying kissing you, darling,” he responds, all innocent and happy.

 

There’s this look in his eyes, which went from simple understanding as a stranger at a damn basketball game to this fondness and adoration. “I guess I like it too,” Emma murmurs.

 

“Only like?”

 

Rolling her eyes, she smacks his arm. “Oh, you know I love it.”

 

When he kisses her again, it’s lasts a little longer, holding her in an embrace while her hands are settled against his chest. But what else is different is that what he whispers after, the words like music to her ears, elegant and lovely and she can’t help but grin ear to ear when she hears them.

 

It was always a word that left a bitter taste in her mouth, something she never really had or experienced. Until now.

 

“Welcome home, love.”

 

(And god knows how many days she’s going to have to put up with him screaming and shouting at the TV in their _home_ when a football - not soccer, Killian has scolded her for that - game is live. Maybe kissing him will shut his mouth up.)

 


	71. song of silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 26\. “You started sitting by me at lunch because I’m alone at my table but we never talk to each other” AU

She never liked much present company, it was too much. Emma has always been the loner, and even when she’s in her sophomore year of high school, she still remains this way.

 

And the thing is Emma _does_ have a loving family, her biological family now, but still after practically fifteen years of her life, all she’s known is abandonment, loss, and just the simple fear of being loved. She is trying her hardest now, to try and change, to become a better person, but god knows how long that’ll take to recover over fifteen years of despair.

 

While she speaks when necessary in class, participates in some discussions when she thinks she can keep up, that’s likely the extent of any sort of contribution and socializing she goes about with her day. Partner projects are usually fine since she’s commonly partnered up with someone she doesn’t mind, such as Ruby or Elsa, who are relatively friends by this point. They text and they talk, and sometimes go out for some food or study together at someone’s place, but it’s not too often.

 

Emma wishes it were often. But the thing is, even if she goes out of her way to try, she feels like the finish line is five steps farther than where it was previously.

 

It’s obvious she just needs to...put herself out there a little more, meet new people, but that’s the issue, she doesn’t feel capable of her own abilities (even though she very much is able to friendly communicate with others).

 

 Doubt.

 

Self-doubt, actually.

 

Perhaps she’s always in a melancholy mood (not really, she is _happy_ sometimes) -

 

Excuses, excuses, that’s the only way she can run, to put distance between herself and an issue which is only ever a temporary fix. Temporary is better than none, but if she went about and solved it, it’d be better than temporary. Emma’s not exactly good at saying things, confessing emotions or her thoughts, it’s always been some sliver of self-loathe and doubt, wedged within her heart.

 

It was always _Emma, you can’t do this or that_ or even _wow, you’re actually trying though it’ll result in failure_ , and even (just straight-up) _you should just give up_.

 

So she’s always felt like...damaged goods, replaceable anytime, simply easy to ignore.

 

But when that boy her age - Killian or something, she heard once in her English class - just appears one day, everything about her balance is completely thrown off. She’s never approached during lunch while she just sits at the table in the back corner of the cafeteria, eating the sandwich made with _love_ from her mom. (She knows Mary Margaret loves her, she’s shown her affection as a mother several times, along with her dad, David.)

 

“Is this seat taken?”

 

She’s always been the shadow (felt like a shadow all her life), and suddenly it feels like light is casting over her, _him_ being here and asking if the spot is taken. “No,” she answers with a casual shrug, “go ahead.” And sometimes, she feels so small, like she’s the tiniest ant facing the entire world, or perhaps feeling like she’s such a fragile piece of artwork; that a single touch will break her.

 

“Killian Jones.”

 

“Emma Nolan.”

 

That’s the last she hears from him, though. The entirety of lunch, he sits there and eats, catches up on some homework (or is getting ahead, she honestly doesn’t know). Between her stolen glances, she feels his presence somewhat comforting where she doesn’t have to worry about what others are seeing or saying.

 

But, then it’s how the story keeps going. He always sits in the same spot, diagonally across from her with his lunch, and she’s always constantly wondering _why_ he sits there; why at the table with _her_ out of everyone else. And they never even speak, never utter a word during the hour they have. Sometimes they’ll wave at each other from across the hall, or they’ll pass each other in the mornings and mumble their good morning’s, but they rarely even speak to each other, and she doesn’t know why, but she certainly doesn’t mind.

 

In due time, she does ask Ruby and Elsa, but neither of them have much input besides the obvious. When Elsa asks Anna to ask Kristoff, all he’s able to provide is that he’s had some pretty rough patches in his life and he notices _her_.

 

Well, that’s not very specific, but if it explains the look in his eyes when he locks his gaze with her, then perhaps he actually _understands_.

 

And understanding is important to her - not sympathy and certainly not pity - just that he’s a silent support pillar, a source of light in the dark she’s always been endlessly enveloped in.

 

His smile always brightens up her days. Despite whatever reason that may be, she begins to smile back at him. (She does not miss the way his smile widens into a grin, all teeth and ear to ear.)

 

.~.

 

It’s one of _those_ days - Emma has had her fair share of disagreements with others - the one where she accidentally lost her temper while David was trying to calm her down. It was one of those...mornings she had, now only in a pissed mood and only wanting to just have this day pass by faster, to forget everything that had happened in the morning, to move onto the next day.

 

As per usual, she eats her lunch in silence as he, but then he scoots over until he’s sitting next to her, something he’s never dared to do before.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

And at such an _easy_ question she could answer, she only feels the tears threaten her eyes. Maybe it’s the gentle tone of his voice, or even just because he’s _offering_ her something she doesn’t get offered from anyone else (unless it’s her parents when they’re not the issue). Days like this, rough and frustrating, she’s just glad no one pays attention to her in the back. She feels embarrassed being on a verge of tears. It’s silent as a few escape, but he just brushes them away and takes her silence as an answer.

 

He apparently just knows she doesn’t want to talk about it - at least, not now.

 

(Things get solved the moment she’s home from school, so by the next day, she’s smiling again and any trace of his frown is gone, replaced with a hint of a smirk, but still as genuine as ever.)

 

.~.

 

The school year is almost over, and she doesn’t expect anything out of the usual from Killian. Sure he talks to her more now (during English, mostly), but the day he actually talks to her during lunch, it’s just... _different_. Emma doesn’t know how to describe it, but it’s a good feeling in her heart, something warm in her stomach.

 

It’s...well, it’s happiness.

 

Killian and his group of friends start to hang out with her and her tiny group, and soon they merge together and soon, the once empty lunch table where only two people sat at, turns into a table where now at least eight people sit at.

 

And she begins to realize she’s _not_ alone.

 

They all usually sit at the same spots, claiming their own seats. Killian sits next to Emma, Kristoff with Anna, Ruby across from Victor (which he tries to shamelessly flirt with her over lunch like the dumb teenagers they can be), and then it’s just Robin and Elsa next to each other because they have no other choice. (Robin sometimes sits with Regina, though, so Elsa is left alone on some days.)

 

Her shadow has been overturned completely since Killian started to give her his attention, even if they never spoke a word to each other. But now, _now_ it’s all chatter and laughter, gossip and stories, and she doesn’t feel like she’s so tiny anymore.

 

It’s the first time, though, where he laces his fingers through hers under the table, palms pressed together, resting on her thigh. It’s a squeeze, his hand tightening for a fleeting second. It’s his thumb softly rubbing across the back of her hand that catches her attention for the second time, and she leans into his side a little bit and lets herself hope.

 

She doesn’t feel like damaged goods as much as she used to, she doesn’t feel like she’s a fragile sculpture waiting to fall and shatter, she doesn’t feel like she’s trapped in her own little cage. She feels _free_ , accepted, and clearly loved. It’s all thanks to Killian, for him being there when she needed it, for being a comfortable silence, for being safe company, for believing in her with the unspoken words, those millions of words already being conveyed through simple eye contact.

 

With him, the voices of doubt slowly disappear. She doesn’t hear the _Emma, you can’t do this_ or the _wow, you’re actually trying though it’ll result in failure_ , and _you should just give up_ anymore. Instead, she hears _I’m proud of you, love_ and _you’re bloody brilliant, never doubt that_ and the quiet _I love you for your entire being, heart and soul, blood and bones_.

 

They are young and bold, chasing dreams and _love_ and everything that’s so idealistic. They are small in this world, weak broken souls with the wisdom and pain in their eyes. But, they grow in due time, out of college and still together, learning through their mistakes. They crack, they fall, they tumble, they break, but she no longer worries about that process anymore, she just knows it’s so satisfying in the end, that her pride, her happiness, her achievements are all a part of a life she’s actually living. A life she’s _sharing_ with Killian Jones.

 

She is not afraid to thread her fingers through his, she is not afraid to clutch onto him like it’s her dying breath, she is not afraid to sell herself out and _fight_ for what she wants.

 

In the end, she just sees him with his boyish grin and the sea in his eyes reflecting nothing but admiration for her.

 

“See? I told you, Emma, you can always do it, no matter what.”

 

But, sometimes, she still won’t believe that, she won’t put faith in that statement.

 

But, of course, Killian comes out with something else.

 

“If you won’t believe in yourself, I have enough belief in me to share with you.”

 

And he presses his forehead against hers and chases away those lurking fears of hers, replacing it with love and contentment, a sort of gift that keeps on giving. Sometimes she feels like all she does is take, take, and _take_ , all while he’s offering. Yet then he comes to her with the biggest smile for her and she can’t think of anything besides the fact that he is her best friend, her supporter, her reason to fight, and she feels like she can face everything.

 

.~.

 

It’s nostalgic, that nearly a decade later, she’s sitting across from him in Granny’s Diner, back to the town where it all started.

 

She does intertwine their hands together on the table though, his fingers and palm warm like that first day he picked up her hand during that lunch at school.

 

“You always looked so alone during lunch,” he tells her later, their palms pressed together as they stroll through the town, passing stores until they’re by the docks. “I had some notion stuck in my head to take that loneliness away.”

 

It’s never been too much of a mystery to her, but it’s nice to hear it from him directly. “And it worked.”

 

He chuckles, gripping her hand just a little bit tighter, tugging her into his side. “Bloody relieved that it did. I was always tempted to speak to you during lunches back then, but my sorry arse couldn’t pull any words out of my mouth back then until Robin told me to stop beating around the bush.”

 

Emma laughs a little, the huffs of white from the winter temperatures. “Hey, your silence was pretty helpful in the end, even if it left me in a wondering state.”

 

They’re standing in front of the water, the air cooler from the waves, the breeze making her cheeks rosy and her lips cold.

 

He is enough to displace the cold for warmth.

 

“The view is beautiful.”

 

“Aye.”

 

And she knows that he isn’t talking about the horizon; he isn’t talking about the light blue skies or the crashing waves against the wooden pier. He is talking about her.

 

That same night, when she’s stripped of the jacket, sweater, and jeans to be replaced with a loose t-shirt and flannel pants, she curls into his side, his knees hitting the back of her thighs while his hand presses down at her stomach beneath her shirt, his lips at the nape of her neck, breath hot against her skin.

 

He’s always been her safe haven. Her home. Emma doesn’t think that will ever change, not in the hard days coming or the easy. Comfortable silence between people aren’t easy to find, but the silence between her and Killian is sometimes like music to her ears.

 


	72. like an animal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5\. we’ve been dating for three months and you’re only now telling me you’re a werewolf AU

Emma is...amused, on the most part, but then another portion of her brain is subsequently telling her that she's gone crazy.

 

But if it's any indication of her lie-detector not going off, she knows he isn't lying to her.

 

"You're serious." It's more of a statement than a question for confirmation.

 

"Aye." He scratches behind her ear, a nervous gesture of his, ducking his head slightly like he's embarrassed, and _she_ should be the embarrassed one for god's sake. "I didn't want to scare you off."

 

"We've been dating for _three_ entire months, Killian. Now you tell me you're a werewolf?"

 

"I assume this...complicates things for us."

 

"Uh, yeah, it does," she mumbles, pinching the bridge of her nose.

 

Emma swears she's going to have a headache because learning that her so-far perfect boyfriend is a fucking _werewolf_ is hard to take in. This explains the sex. And so much more, but honestly, she can't even find herself complaining. The sex is beyond fantastic, but he is a _werewolf_ , god damn it, how is she supposed to tell the others about this?

 

"Uhm, love, I don't intend to alarm you further, but I'm quite sure you're also my -"

 

"Mate. Right. I got that," she interrupts, nodding subtly.

 

"Are you angry?"

 

She sighs, shaking her head. "No, not really, just overwhelmed a little." She wonders how this is supposed to work. Aren't werewolves supposed to mark their mates or something? Uneducated as she is on this, she's a little lost for words, hence her short responses to him in the first place.

 

If werewolves are real, then that means other stuff like...vampires and ghost and all these other myths are truths, too. But now this explains his puppy pouts and his wolfish growls (don’t remind her, _jesus christ_ ), god this sheds light on too much at once. This thinking is far more exhausting than she thought. Emma brings her head to fall on his shoulder, feeling him tense before he relaxes and brings his arms around her. He apologizes for not telling her sooner, but Emma just wants to _sleep_ and deal with this prospect of her life later.

 

"Take me to bed," she mumbles.

 

"Swan?"

 

"Mind out of the gutter," she tells him, leaning on him completely. "I mean, bed bed. Like, sleep."

 

Soon, she feels him lift her up bridal style, carrying her toward the bedroom in her apartment. "I suppose you will interrogate me later, then," he murmurs sort of jokingly, even though he definitely _knows_ she will be interrogating him out on how everything's supposed to work.

 

Before she falls asleep, her back pressed against his chest, she notices his hesitance on making any further contact. She’s _not_ angry at him at all for keeping this information from him, she always known there was something special to Killian. Emma finds his hand from behind her and drags it over to drape loosely over her middle, until he feels possessive enough to tighten his grip and pull her even closer against him, his breath so _hot_ on her neck, nose buried in her hair.

 

“Are there other werewolves, too?” she quietly asks.

 

She’s barely awake when she hears his soft, “Aye.”

 

.~.

 

She learns that there's an entire pack of werewolves in Storybrooke, learns that one of her best friends, Ruby, is a god damn werewolf. If her life couldn't get any more difficult, she's been so wrong all along.

 

(And Killian is the apparent Alpha.)

 

It's not easy to go about her days anymore, knowing her boyfriend is an _actual_ werewolf who can transform willingly, with the exception of full moons. Emma doesn't know how to exactly absorb this information in without acting weirdly, and she notices the way Killian eyes her suspiciously. Plus, it isn't easy to get away with anything, he has enhanced smell and everything, like wow, what a wonderful life to live.

 

"You are half werewolf, love," he informs her one day. "It explains why you can't transform, but also why we're supposedly mates."

 

Her life just gets weirder and more complicated by the second.

 

"However... _if_ we bond, there's a possibility you become one of us completely. And, that's all up to you, whether you'd want to become my mate officially with its perks and disadvantages." He shrugs, running a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in different places. "You'd be a part of our pack, but your life really wouldn't change much unless you get caught. And also the full moons, _especially_ the first few where you have no idea and control on yourself - which we can help suppress you, if need be. Some enhanced senses: speed, strength...ability to transform willingly over time and experience."

 

"So the decision is up to me," she deduces in the end, feeling like she has a heavy weight on each shoulder. Her heart even thuds against her chest painfully, that she has to deal with all this. "Can I...think about it?"

 

He nods and pull her into his embrace, Emma falling into his lap on the carpet. He presses a kiss into her hair, his thumbs rubbing circles on her hands. "Take all the time you need, love. You don't have to make a decision now or anytime soon. It could be months from now, or a year or two."

 

Emma does love him, she _does_ , but there's also a sense of her not wanting to rush into things yet. This is the one time she needs to make a rational decision, this can drastically alter her life into something _more_ , so of course she'll need to analyse and understand everything before making her choice. (Full moons for a beginner sounds painful, the way Killian put it.)

 

“Does this explain how you happen to know where I am all the time?”

 

“It’s a small town. I got your scent down within the first few days we spent together, it’s simply tracking on my part. Plus, a concern for your safety.”

 

Rolling her eyes, she shifts slightly so she doesn’t feel like she’s in an awkward sitting position. “Just because I’ve become sheriff here, doesn’t mean you have to be so worried about me all the time, you know.”

 

“Can’t help it.” He shrugs, pressing his nose against the side of her neck. “It’s rather me being protective. And a force of habit.”

 

“Now this just gives me all the answers to the lies I’ve never questioned further.”

 

“Ah...right.” His scruff scratches against her skin; she shivers. “Apologies for keeping so many secrets, I didn’t want you to run off thinking I’m a lunatic, _though_ , I think I’m convinced that you still believe I’m a madman and that this werewolf lore you’ve thought was a mere tale all your life is now reality.”

 

She laughs, leaning back into his chest and tilting her head up to look at him. “This...changes things, sure, but you said our lives, _my_ life, would still stay relatively normal. You’re not a madman. This, all of this, is just our lives.”

 

There’s a grin on his face, wide and happy. “Wisely spoken, Emma.”

 

“Are you sure you’re not the wise one? I mean, I’d assume you’ve lived for a _long_ time instead of being simply twenty-nine.”

 

Killian hums thoughtfully, pursing his lips together.  “Well...”

 

“Do I want to know?”

 

“I don’t know?”

 

“What are you, three hundred?”

 

“A little over two centuries, more precisely,” he corrects, biting down on his lower lip.

 

“God, you’re _old_ ,” she mumbles, stifling a yawn. “So in addition to my werewolf boyfriend, he’s over two hundred years old. You know, I think I’ll still to twenty-nine next time.”

 

He laughs, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck. “I believe I’d prefer that age as well,” he agrees, his hand threading through her hair. “It’s getting late.”

 

Emma simply hums but doesn’t respond any further to him, sparing a second to glance at the clock which is nearing midnight.

 

.~.

 

She wakes in a rush, feeling to the side of the bed for Killian, but he’s missing. For a second, she thinks he may be gone to the washroom, but the empty side is already cold with no warmth, so it doesn’t take her long to brush the curtain aside and look up, to find a full moon.

 

It’s certainly going to take some time getting used to.

 

.~.

 

“Hello, beautiful.”

 

She looks up at Killian with weary eyes, nodding at him with a smile before he slips into the spot in front of her, his eyes narrowed. Honestly, since she woke up that night, she’d been unable to fall back asleep, just constantly _worrying_ about his safety, even though she knows he can handle himself as a wolf. Whatever requirements they need during the nights, she can let him have it, but she can’t help but try and wrap her head around all this lycanthropy.

 

“Love, is there something wrong?”

 

Snapping at out from her reverie, she inhales a breath and nods slowly. “Didn’t sleep well, is all.” She doesn’t elaborate further, but she figures he can depict a message from that.

 

He understands quickly, his blue eyes softening, his lips pressed to a straight line. “It was calling. Couldn’t have stayed in the apartment, it could have put you in danger.”

 

Emma raises her eyebrow despite how much she just wants to _sleep_. “So you can’t control it?”

 

“Sometimes even through all the experience we have, we still run rampant. I didn’t want to risk it with you, Swan, the last thing, or _person_ , I want to hurt is you.” He rests his hand on top of hers and she glances down at him. Warm. He’s so warm. “Besides, I don’t think you need to see me during full moons. I look far worse than what I usually do.”

 

At least she can still manage to huff out a laugh. “How ugly could you possibly get?”

 

“Not sure, but I reckon seven on a one-to-ten scale.”

 

“Not _that_ bad.”

 

.~.

 

A few months later when he finally marks her, it’s like an indescribable feeling. It’s like a sparking pain throughout her body while they bind their lives together (forever). It’s wild, so much flashing behind her closed eyes, the feeling of skin against skin still a conscious thought in the back of her mind.

 

“Am I _supposed_ to feel lightheaded?” she asks breathlessly.

 

“Aye,” he responds firmly, “get some rest, love.”

 

It takes her a moment to roll off of him. Then he pulls the comforter up over her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple which she feels faintly, before falling to slumber.

 

Now that was one hell of an experience.

 

.~.

 

She feels faster...stronger... _better_.

 

But because of her lack of experience with this _werewolf_ stuff, she does wear herself out a little too much the first time she’s getting more used to these advantages.

 

Even for the days she has, _weeks_ until the next full moon, her nerves are riled up while worry crowds her mind. Even Killian’s assurance that the rest of the pack being there for her (in wolf form nonetheless), does not assist with any comfort.

 

.~.

 

For precautions, Killian takes her out to the outskirts of town, the forest, in case she does transform.

 

Oh, does it happen. The transformation feels like her bones are breaking and she’s going through severe pain and she wants to _scream_ , but nothing comes from her throat. Emma is vaguely aware that she’s on the ground, but it still _hurts_ it hurts so fucking back, and she can’t think.

 

 _Stay strong, love, you’re doing well_.

 

Wherever she hears that, she doesn’t know, but she’s not thinking anymore, she doesn’t remember much before she’s running around on four legs, before the night of the full moon is over.

 

And when it does end, she wakes up with Killian on top of her and patting her cheek, a broad grin on his face while she’s still horrified to death because she can’t even _recall_ what happened overnight. Emma’s bones ache to the point where she doesn’t even want to get out of bed (which he carried her to in the early hours, apparently), feeling like an unused machine which needs some oil. Or perhaps a guitar which needs some tuning and adjustments.

 

“It’ll do that the first few times,” he says, rubbing her shoulders. “You did decently for a first full moon though, Swan. All of us commend you for that.”

 

“Thanks...I guess.”

 

She learns that these perks are actually extremely useful when she has to track down someone and throw them into the cell. And yes her speed, god, that’s improved, too. It really makes her job as the Sheriff so much more efficient, but there are still some drawbacks. Her calves are sore and her nose gets a little sensitive to some scents since she’s still having to adjust to the entire _werewolf_ thing.

 

It may not have been the best news she heard months ago, but it also wasn’t the worst.

 

.~.

 

“Does this mean if we have a kid, they’d be a werewolf?”

 

He cocks an eyebrow up and nods. “Aye, most likely considering it’d be in his or her blood. May be a bit of a hassle, but luckily they’d have two parents who know exactly what they’re doing.”

 

They’ve been together for a little over a year now, they are engaged much to Emma’s chagrin because she doesn’t dream of puffy white wedding dresses or large celebrations. (He just keeps telling her they don’t have to, they just need to make it official.)

 

“Technically _you_ know what you’re doing,” she corrects, biting down on her lower lip. “But, uh...what if I said I was pregnant?”

 

He scoffs. “Nonsense, you’re handling yourself quite well.” Then he shakes his head slightly. “Well, I’d be ecstatic of course!” he exclaims, grinning. And then his lips start to press into a straight line and he narrows his eyes. “Emma  -”

 

“Yeah,” she blurts out, not even letting him form a proper question or statement.

 

She’s mentioned having kids before, but not under the...life they live now, of course. But he’s so happy, his mouth agape in awe and his eyes looking at her like she is literally his _entire_ world, and she can’t help but giggle a little (Emma Swa - _Jones_ , in a way - does not giggle often) when he cups her cheeks and kisses her like he’s a dying man, can’t help but let that giggle escape when his hand hovers over her stomach before slipping beneath her shirt, pressing against it as a tender touch.

 

“We’re going to have a little werewolf,” he murmurs, his smile never disappearing when he kisses her like...ten more times.

 

“Oh yeah, they’re going to be an animal like their father.”

 

“Oi! I am not.”

 

“Right. Like you’re not an animal in bed.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note to self: never write a werewolf fic again. took forever. very inexperienced with lycanthropy. forget i even wrote this nonsense.


	73. tug of war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 22\. rescuing their partner from a recon mission gone wrong AU.

"So much for a day off," he mutters, rolling onto her side and finding her phone. "Why did you set it so early?"

 

"Because I needed it," Emma grumbles rubbing her eyes and sitting up. "You have a day off, I _don't_."

 

"Mmmm." He pulls her back into his lap and kisses her, despite not brushing their teeth yet. "I've nothing better to do anyways, love. I'll probably head in and help Locksley with his case."

 

"Would it kill you to just stay home and sleep for once?" Emma asks, straddling his lap, a raised eyebrow on her forehead. "You already work so hard, you should just catch up on rest."

 

Killian chuckles. "Not much of a tempting offer to sleep in a bed without you," he responds with a smile.

 

"Come on, you sap, I need to shower and get to work." She crawls off of him and the bed and moves to the closet, pulling a navy blue T-shirt and jeans out. "Are you gonna help with breakfast, or delay me further?"

 

"One of these days I'll need to teach you how to cook a proper meal," he grumbles, flipping the comforter off, then making the bed. "What do you want?"

 

"Whatever you can make within forty minutes and coffee."

 

"Alright, pancakes and coffee it is."

 

.~.

 

Although they both get out of the car together and go inside to greet the rest and to sign in, Killian heads into the opposite direction after a quick kiss goodbye and a whispered _stay safe and good luck_ before disappearing off to find Robin.

 

Being in the FBI is just a long fucking list of responsibilities.

 

Usually Killian is her partner, hence their relationship, but today it's just her going on a simple reconnaissance mission to one of the suspected locations of where a murder occurred. She's going to have David as backup, mainly to stand guard outside and make sure no one interrupts her investigation of the area to see if anything is linked to the suspect they've been tracking.

 

"This guy’s been on the run for months. This could be where he hid out."

 

"Or where he killed Mike Taylor," David adds, grabbing the keys to the car.

 

"Do you think he's killed more - whoever he is?" Emma asks, getting into the passenger seat. "If not, then whoever our killer is must have been directly related to the victim, somehow at least. And if not related, he must be some sort of...madman. Not a psychopath, though."

 

He shrugs, clipping in his seat belt, then starting the car up. "How about you leave that to the BAU team, Emma? We're on a simple recon mission. There and back. Anything suspicious, we can deal with and return to later with the entire team."

 

"Right." She shakes her head, leaning an elbow on the edge of the open window. "Just a habit."

 

"Stop thinking until we get there."

 

.~.

 

“Wait out here,” she orders him, despite him being the boss.

 

David looks apprehensive but he nods. “Put a vest on underneath, you know, in case.”

 

For a moment, she begins to doubt her own plans, but then she grabs the vest from the back of the cruiser and slips it on, promptly slipping her leather jacket on top and zipping up. There’s something here making Emma uneasy, the thought of it being a possible human dissection location or just where Mike Taylor got shot, she doesn’t _know_ , and it’s giving her the chills.

 

Emma is careful, sliding open the large doors of the old hangar and glancing around the dark building, keeping her hands tightly gripped on the handle of her pistol. There was no indication of a car or any form of transport outside, but even that bit of information is not assurance enough.

 

There is water leaking from above, creaky metal scraping against each other from the incoming draft of wind. Turning the flashlight on, she looks around, darting to the source of sound whenever she hears something suspicious or out of place. _This is a bad idea_ , Emma muses in her mind, while reminding herself to take calm breaths.

 

But this is all wrong.

 

She hears gunshots ring out and David yelling at someone right as the large doors close and a light turns on, exposing her to a man standing in front of the large doors, who after some analysing, is the man they’ve been going after for a while now. Swallowing away some of her fear (god, she should’ve ran when she had the chance), she raises her gun at him and keeps her finger wrapped around the trigger.

 

“Wouldn’t be so wise to shoot me, would it?”

 

“Well, I don’t think they’d _care_ , dead or alive, Mr. Richmond. You’re a wanted man, hunted by the FBI.”

 

His laugh isn’t manic, more normal, before he waves his own gun around. “But, wouldn’t death be too quick for a man like me? Don’t I deserve punishment under the jury instead?”

 

“Sometimes death fits under certain circumstances, and sometimes living a life in a rotten cell fits under another.” Emma licks her lips and looks around, no entrance or exit close enough in sight. “Now whichever one you want, that’s up to you. Either you surrender and I cuff you up, or I shoot.”

 

“Oh, what a lovely threat, Agent Swan.”

 

She _would_ flinch at her name, but she’s not surprised he has his own tactics and has completed his own research. “Not much of a threat if it’s more of a bargain, Richmond.”

 

“And who’s to say I won’t shoot?”

 

Narrowing her eyes, she shakes her head with pursed lips. “Well, that wouldn’t really guarantee you an escape now, would it? Shooting an agent of the FBI, that’s more charges to put you up before a death penalty. Would you prefer that over life imprisonment?”

 

“Ah, fair point,” he says, “but a second degree murder isn’t always life imprisonment.”

 

 _This_ complicates things. “So, are you confessing it was not premeditated?”

 

“Of course not,” Richmond responds. “If you’d like technicality... would you like technicality, Agent Swan?”

 

She continues to keep her voice firm, but to not let her guard down with him. “Technicality may prove to be beneficial to our investigation, if you want to kindly provide that information, then by all means, go ahead.”

 

“Mike?” He scoffs. “He was a nice guy, sure, but he _stole_ my wife from me. I haven’t heard from her since and she never came forward after his death. I had every intention of killing him, but I never planned it out. And when I did kill him...well, I had to dispose of him _somehow_ , I just recklessly made the decision to get rid of him. I just didn’t think the FBI would get caught in with it all...but here I am conversing with a renowned FBI agent.”

 

At the moment, Emma is trying to recall of her overnight studying on this case. “You went to college to become a surgeon, you _dissected_ Mike Taylor.”

 

He grimaces. “Uh, now _that_ was not my doing, only convenient that I was going to be a surgeon and he’d been...dismembered professionally.”

 

“So you’re telling me you got rid of his body and then someone _else_ mutilated it?”

 

And the thing is, she doesn’t even _need_ to question him, her ability to detect lies hasn’t gone off once since he started to confess everything. But if he didn’t take him apart limb for limb and removed Taylor’s vital organs…

 

 _Shit_.

 

The missing wife.

 

What a fucking _nasty_ case at where this is all going.

 

.~.

 

“There’s an incoming call, mate, pick it up.”

 

Killian glances at the phone and picks it up, being greeted by a frantic voice.

 

“Emma may be in danger, call in the rest of the team. And one of the medics, I - I don’t know what’s going on inside, I’ve been locked out and dealing with a guy I just shot.”

 

He’s pretty sure he drops the phone before he’s running and giving orders through the neighbouring offices and anyone else on duty.

 

.~.

 

Killian practically runs to David when he sees him. The boss stands up and lets the medic do the rest for the bleeding man on the ground. “What happened?”

 

“Recon gone wrong, Jones,” David mutters, a man handing him a towel to wipe blood off of his hands. “Emma’s in there. With someone.”

 

“You mean the murderer,” he corrects with a sharp tone, unhappy to know his beloved is stuck in there. “Anything else?”

 

“I haven’t heard any gunshots go off. She has a vest, at least. But if the man’s got a knife, then things can change. We need to play this safe.”

 

“Sometimes playing it safe won’t _work_ , Dave.”

 

“Look, I know you two are together, but we can’t risk another agent or officer’s life in exchange for hers. Besides, this is a hangar, there has to be other ways to get in besides the front entrance. Probably the roof or the sides with balconies. If we can’t negotiate with the suspect, then we’ve gotta kill him.” David pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “I won’t let anything happen to her, she’s as much as a sister to me as a lover to you.”

 

“Damn well you won’t, not if I have any say to this,” Killian huffs, reaching down to his leg to see if his gun is in his holster. “I’ll call in if I find another way into this place. Don’t do anything reckless while I'm not here, mate.” With that, he begins to stomp off.

 

“You’re not on duty,” David calls.

 

Killian stops in his tracks and turns around to face him. With a defiant smile, he shakes his head. “I may not have been, but I am now."

 

.~.

 

“Every bit of law enforcement in this city is probably waiting outside for you, Richardson. You know you can’t escape.”

 

“Are you sure about that?”

 

“Oh, pray tell how many spare escape plans do you have which involves not coming face to face with another person who won’t hesitate to shoot? You’ve _technically_ taken a high-class FBI agent hostage, you know.” Emma still doesn’t drop her arm from holding the pistol at him, but her arms are getting sore. “I may not be bound, but I’m stuck here with a criminal nonetheless.”

 

She knows she could take a bullet or two with the vest underneath, but if it hits anywhere else, she knows she’ll be screwed.

 

“Oh, but aren’t you such a good bargain item?”

 

Emma huffs an indignant laugh. “I’m a _human_ , no item, Richardson.”

 

_Don’t think about Killian_

 

_Don’t think about dying._

 

_Don’t think about Killian_

 

_Don’t think about dying._

 

She repeats it in her head until she’s got it set aside. Richardson is already getting on her last nerve and she does not want to bargain and make trades with him. Both of their lives are already at risk, if she doesn’t shoot, he will. But then if she _does_ , he may still be able to, depending on where she hits. Not the head (he’s still useful), she’s sure, but perhaps somewhere in the arm or the chest. An arm would be a safe bet, disabling him from holding the gun up to steady his aim with his dominant arm.

 

Before she knows it, she loses herself in the moment and decides to shoot, the sound echoing in the large hangar. Richardson stumbles, the pistol slipping out of his grip, but he pulls the trigger and she feels it hit her, right in the right calf. If it isn’t for her desire to get that thing out of his reach, she would be falling.

 

With her left leg, she kicks the pistol out of him and points hers at his head while he’s got a tense jaw, glaring up at her.

 

But the bastard’s quick, sweeping her weak leg (fuck him, god damn it), and she falls onto her back and loses her gun before scrambling back up, despite the rush of blood she’s feeling. Richardson is playing dirty, she’s aware. He’s got a shot arm, she’s got a shot leg - one for one.

 

“Fair play now, no guns involved,” he says.

 

Emma doesn’t trust him, he’s got something else on him and she’s not got the time to inspect him. This is all taking a turn for the worst.

 

“Though…” He grins wickedly before drawing out a knife.

 

 _God damn it_.

 

_Don’t think about dying._

 

Repeating it in her mind again, she knows she’s got to fight him regardless. She needs to live to see another day, another day with Killian; days of sunsets and dinners and mornings like earlier today.

 

He swings at her, the blade swiping at her cheek, leaving a gash there, but it doesn’t hurt too much right now. Her brain’s focusing on other places of pain. Then it’s a jab to her thigh in the _same_ fucking leg, she’s got to thank him later (sarcastic thinking, much), and she musters up all of her strength after dodging him a couple more times, throwing a punch straight to his face and she hears something crack, surely his nose. Then she twists on her foot - _god_ , that _hurts_ \- and elbows his side.

 

Emma can’t exactly walk or put any pressure on her right leg anymore. Her winces lapsing into whimpers.

 

Well... _shit_.

 

.~.

 

He hears the gunshot goes off and begins to worry, even if he doesn’t know who shot it; even though he knows she has a vest on.

 

By the time he’s climbed a ladder he finds, he walks into the darkness beneath metal supporting him, and catches the faint light below him, a fight happening - their moves are sloppy, he knows they’ve both endured some injuries by this point.

 

Bloody hell, Emma’s never this weak with her fighting.

 

From this distance from above, he can see _her_ trembling and all he thinks about is saving his love, his best friend, his partner. Aiming his pistol at the man who’s on the ground, one elbow supporting himself, and sucking in a deep breath, he fires a warning shot and both heads snap up and he nods at her before descending down the ladder he locates.

 

Cautiously, he walks up to Emma first, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her up straight. He notices her mewl and his heart cracks a little, his hatred growing more for the man who’s hurt her.

 

“You’re late, Jones. Any later I’d be dead,” she manages to rasp out.

 

He sighs in relief, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “Sorry, love. Can you hold this -” Killian hands the gun to her, “- keep him intimidated?”

 

Emma is able to do so, even though she’s breaking down by now.

 

“Oh, I’m _very_ intimidated.”

 

Killian scowls. “Shut the bloody hell up.” He calls in for David on the walkie-talkie. “Open the doors, Dave.” He can see the red staining his arm. “He’s got a shot to his arm, medical attention is needed.”

 

“And a broken nose,” Emma mutters weakly from his side.

 

Killian _wants_ to laugh at his strong, fierce Swan, but she’s battered and he doesn’t seem like she’s holding on too well. “Have medics ready for Emma.”

 

“Hear you loud and clear, Jones.”

 

Setting that aside, he takes the gun from Emma while the large doors open up, light pouring into the relative darkness. Men and women too, all from the precinct, those that were dispatched, running in.

 

“Sorry...Killian…” Emma practically crumbles, but he throws his pistol away with record speed and hauls her up into his arms completely, feeling the blood on his skin, _Emma’s_ blood.

 

He sees the blood seeping into her jeans and he nearly winces just at the sight. The smell of blood so metallic, while he watches her heavy eyelids. “Come on, Emma, don’t apologize. What you should do is stay awake for me, aye?” he asks, walking around the bloody mess and toward the ambulance parked outside.

 

She doesn’t stay awake long enough.

 

.~.

 

The entire case is a mess, but he’s not even concerned about that. The bastard’s going to be thrown into jail, the missing wife is being found...but Emma, god, _Emma_.

 

_“She’ll make a full recovery, but her right leg was...messed up pretty badly with a deep stab wound and a gun shot. It’ll take a while for her to regain use. It appears like she’d also used too much of her right leg even after injury.”_

 

His stubborn love never fails to put up a fight, that’s for sure. Only that watching her here, it’s a sight he hopes he doesn’t have to frequently see ever again. It’s never been more than a couple of scratches and bruises - this has been the worst outcome yet. If he’d only been faster at getting inside, he could have saved her.

 

“You know I can practically feel you thinking.”

 

Snapping his head up, he catches her small smile. “Sorry, it’s just been...a busy day.”

 

“Don’t I know it.” She huffs a laugh.

 

“Emma -”

 

“I know, I know.” She waves at him, cutting him off from speaking any further. “I made a bad decision in there.”

 

His lips curl down into a frown and he shakes his head. “I should’ve gotten in there faster, Swan. You did what you could in that predicament, are you really going to place the blame on yourself for making a decision you thought was worth it? I was your partner, I should’ve went with you, regardless of a day off or not.” Killian sighs, brushing hair away from her forehead, his thumb pressing into the lines in her forehead, wishing for them to go away.

 

“You still saved me.”

 

There was no pride or honour when he saved her, he only felt relief - he _still_ only feels relief. “Aye, I suppose,” he whispers. After a few moments of silence, he honestly says, “I’m just relieved you’re okay. You know how much I love you - I can’t lose you.”

 

“Hey.” It draws his attention back to her eyes, a soft expression, a ghost of a smile. “You once said you’re a survivor. I am, too. And I love you, as well. But you know that already, don’t you?”

 

Unable to fight a smile off, he falls victim to it. “Aye, I do.”

 


	74. the captain and the savior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7\. rival superheros who are trying to protect the same small city oh hey we make a pretty good team AU
> 
> if you are triggered by any sort of fires, implied bullying, or violence with weapons, you may skip this.

Storybrooke is a small town, but the crime never stops (dark crimes, too). What frustrates her though, is that there’s another person stealing the spotlight of saving people and enforcing justice. She’s not the only superhero anymore, and damn, does that make her blood boil in a way.

 

But it’s _weird_ , to have these powers that no one else has, or would you rarely meet someone who has powers. Emma has the ability of duplication and enhanced hearing, and she’s always been quite talented at using her duplicated selves to listen closely to her enemies. It’s a benefit, but sometimes she may accidentally listen in on _less_ than pleasant conversations around her.

 

Back to the point, however, is that Emma does _not_ appreciate the other man or woman in her town stealing away the crime with the justice he or she provides. This is _her_ town. Rival superhero be damned, she’ll encounter him or her soon enough.

 

When the biggest house fire strikes, and she hears the beginning of it all, well, it’s her to the rescue.

 

(Savior of Storybrooke, and all.)

 

She duplicates herself and heads into the building before David and the others can see (David knows, he’s the only one that does), trying to hear for herself for anyone that hasn’t escaped. There’s one person outside, but she reckons there must be more. But the sound of the sirens and the creaking of burning wood is disrupting her ability to listen intently.

 

Each version of her is looking around, climbing up the stairs, in every possible room and portion of the house. Her leather attire doesn’t do too well against fire and she’s sweating like a madman who’s completed his crossfit training.

 

“Better be careful there, love.”

 

Emma jumps at the voice but she doesn’t see him. The hell?

 

“And you’re my rival aren’t you? Defeating crime in my town,” she speaks blindly, glancing around at the dancing flames from the kitchen.

 

“You don’t own the town, darling.” He chuckles and then suddenly he appears in front of her, his clothing of black leather and fabrics, covering a portion of his face with some sort of scarf. “Not the time to talk though, so has one of your duplicates found anyone?”

 

It takes effort to bite back any smart retort she has and she shakes her head to his question.

 

“We best be going then,” he encourages, nodding up toward the stairs.

 

Honestly, she doesn’t really want to work with him, but if innocent lives are in danger and she has to resort to working with the other _man_ who’s defeating crime in Storybrooke, so be it.

 

The final door gets broken down in the end until she finds two children, too young for their own good, huddled in the corner in fear. Thank god people can’t see her face through the leather mask.

 

It turns out her rival also has some sort of enhanced reflexes, able to push and deflect objects that are coming down while she and one other duplicate carries the other out of the bedroom. In the end, their option is jumping out the window, but she can’t really _do_ that from their current height together.

 

“I go down first and you drop them down.”

 

That plan works after she encourages the kids, and then she jumps out and tumbles a little bit before regaining her balance.

 

Suddenly, he and the children are missing entirely while she dumbly glances around, but the smoke has gotten to her a little bit so she coughs, and _then_ she notices her hand got nicked by something, probably wood. Sometimes, her duplicates are not so coordinated, too clumsy for their own good.

 

“Okay there?”

 

“For _fucks_ sake, stop doing that,” she growls while peeling her leather glove off. She winces at the leather sticking to her bloody skin. “Damn,” she mutters, biting on her lower lip at the sight. It’s pretty nasty, and she’s just about sure she’s out of stuff at home to fix this one up. Let alone with one hand.

 

“Alright, _not_ okay,” he states firmly, and there’s something gripping her wrist, an invisible hand. “Come with me, lass, they’ve got the fire under control.”

 

“They’ll see us.”

 

“I can turn whoever I touch invisible by maintaining physical contact. Relax.” He tugs at her, and she follows him back to his hideout, which is apparently on a ship of his. Hiding in plain sight, apparently.

 

In the faint light in his cabin, she sees him move about quickly, gathering materials and other things. “Give me your hand again,” is what he demands when he plops down in front of her on a chair, and she does. “Tell your duplicates to be a little more careful next time, can’t be ruining this skin of yours all the time.”

 

Emma doesn’t dare to speak back, not entirely trusting his intentions of tending to her wound when he’s literally just doing that. He brings something else with his other hand and pours it on the opening, and she winces _badly_ , nearing a gasp, and he apologizes quietly before grabbing some white gauze and carefully wrapping it. “The fuck was that?” she eventually asks.

 

“Quite a vulgar mouth, darling.” He gets scissors and cuts the remaining gauze, ensuring its security. “Rum, and a bloody waste of it. Good for disinfecting a wound, also fantastic poison if you ever want to drown your pains away emotionally.”

 

“Right, well...thanks for that, I guess.”

 

“Now, I suppose we’re back to rivals again?”

 

She scoffs. “We were _always_ rivals since you started to end crime here. See you later, _Captain_.” Just because he owns his own ship.

 

“And you, _Swan_.”

 

She doesn’t freeze at how he knows her last name, but she is more than surprised.

 

_Just keep walking._

 

.~.

 

There are two teenagers with a younger child in a dark alleyway, and she _knows_ she needs to save that kid from whatever wrath those two punk teens have in store.

 

It takes one minute for the kid to run off for his life. It takes her two minutes and thirty-one seconds to threaten one until they’re speeding off, and it takes two minutes and forty-nine seconds to realize the other is knocked out cold - not by her, though.

 

“That was _your_ plan?”

 

“Certainly didn’t hurt to punch some sense into him,” he says, appearing before her. “He’ll have a nasty headache when he wakes up, and probably the fear that he’d been attacked by a ghost.”

 

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “You didn’t need to do that, you know.”

 

“He was asking for it, love.” He shrugs, right as he begins to turn invisible again. “And besides, I believe we make _quite_ the team.”

 

.~.

 

It’s the last time she’s dealing with Mr. Gold’s crap.

 

(But damn, the downside to her being able to duplicate herself is not knowing whether she’ll only feel the pain or actually contract the wound one of her duplicates get. It’s too random.)

 

By the time she’s found Gold’s location in the building, she’s positive she’s got at least two broken ribs, two slashes from a stupid knife one of his men pulled out on her arm and cheek, and one bullet scrape over her shoulder. And right now, she’s on the verge of no adrenaline or energy to fight any further. But she’s got to set it straight with Gold, to _stop_ him from starting anymore crimes. (Drug dealing to any sort of dealing, actually.)

 

When one guard pops out from nowhere, pointing a rifle at her, she uses what she can to punch him in the face, knock his gun out of his hand, then kick him to collide with the solid wall behind his back until he’s unconscious. “Don’t know when to fucking give up,” she mutters, taking a moment to catch her breath and get back on track.

 

Emma can hear the footsteps from so far, can hear him say, “Well, if it isn’t the Savior of Storybrooke.”

 

“If it isn’t Robert Gold, the Dealer of Storybrooke.”

 

Just as the man raises a gun to her head, he falls and she picks the pistol off from the ground and backs up, a little wobbly on her legs though.

 

“Seems like the Savior of Storybrooke needed some saving this time.”

 

There’s no mistaking the voice of who that is, and she sighs in relief (she never thought she could be so relieved at his backup). Emma isn’t in the state to confront Gold, even if she just had the strength to compromise with him. Now that he’s down, she doesn’t have to worry.

 

She’s falling and he catches her just in time with his fast reflexes, and she groans, the pain in her ribs a little too much. _Yeah, definitely broken_ , is the only coherent thought in her brain.

 

“Woah, love.”

 

“I guess you were right,” she murmurs.

 

“About what?”

 

Eventually, she rasps out, “We do make a pretty good team.”

 

Now she notices his blue eyes, how they’re like the sea. It’s the last thing she sees for the night.

 

.~.

 

The feeling of opening her eyes feel like so much effort, peeling them open with force, faced with a blinding light. And there’s beeping, so much beeping. A hospital. Oh, great, at the least she’s still alive.

 

Sitting up is _not_ a smart idea at all.

 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, darling.”

 

 _Come on_ , she thinks to herself, pursing her lips and turning her head to the voice. She’s not very surprised anymore when he slowly fades into view. “Do you really need to be invisible?”

 

“Saves my identity, Swan.”

 

It’s the first time she’s seen him without his face covered with black fabric. He’s...unfairly attractive - what the hell? “You know who I am, though.”

 

“Aye, that I do,” he agrees.

 

“Wouldn’t it be a fair trade that I know who you are?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

 

“Of course.” He smiles. “Killian Jones, or well, _Captain_ , if you prefer that instead.”

 

.~.

 

Emma inhales a deep breath from the sea and then exhales. It’s quiet and it’s calming here, it allows her to release her own thoughts, to just simply relax without anyone bothering her.

 

Then, she hears the plop of something next to her. Invisible, but...there.

 

“Feeling better, Swan?”

 

Now, she’s not even surprised of him popping out of nowhere, trying to scare her or just simply remain out of sight. “Ribs still killing me a little bit and Victor told me to stay _out_ of trouble.” She chuckles and leans back on the bench.

 

“Are you going to follow those orders?” he asks.

 

Huffing out a quiet laugh, she turns her head to look at him in the eyes, him already solidified next to her. “Nope.”

 

Killian looks amused and not surprised whatsoever, a smirk on his face as he turns his face forward and begins to fade. “Brilliant, I need a rival and teammate when the time comes.”

 

And then he’s gone, her hearing focused on his disappearing footsteps off the docks, her eyes glued on his ship not far away from her spot on the bench.

 

By this point, she can’t help fighting a smile on her own face.

 

( _the Captain and the Savior.)_

 


	75. couches and kitchens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 27\. “I fell asleep on your couch after a party but you didn’t complain and made breakfast for the both of us” au.

It isn't often Killian and David throw parties, but when they do, it's always a blast.

 

Which makes no exception for this Christmas one. Emma enjoys the parties, she always does because it's with people she _knows_ and doesn't mind spending time with. Everyone is usually friends from high school or college, so it makes things a lot easier. And if she doesn't know them, someone else trustworthy does, so as long as it's not a bad impression, she'll consider themselves acquainted by the end of the night.

 

In this case, she knows everyone. It's more of a family-friendly party though since children are attending. Mary Margaret's had her fingers wrapped around baby Neal for months now, and Killian's brother, Liam, has two little rascals who can't help but run around and play since they're always so energetic until the end of the day.  Besides, Emma has seen Killian babysit his nephews, they're literally all pirates. The lot of them are already sailors, but no, they're much more ruthless and wild than a simple sailor.

 

But she, on the other hand, hasn't got any family at all. Unless she considers her closet group of friends family - not by the blood of kin. They sort of _are_ her family, the people who care about her, the people who hang out all the time but also gets fed up with. It's always a little awkward (just a _little_ ) at gatherings where there's so much family involved and she's sitting there without a person to mention. She's just happy that everyone understands and accepts her for who she is.

 

"Emma, come play with us!"

 

She glances at Liam and Elsa who just shrug, collectively taking a sip from their drinks while they completely disregard their sons. "I'll play _if_ your Uncle Killian and Dad play too. Does that sound fair?"

 

"Swan!" Killian scowls, hitting her on the arm.

 

"If I go down, the entire family goes down, too," she chimes, a grin playing at her lips before she's being dragged by two little hands on her wrist. Michael is dragging her while Darren is off chasing down his father.

 

Killian seems extremely unamused, but Emma laughs it off and they play with the boys. When Robin arrives with Roland, things...settle down for the adults, but not for the children.

 

Despite running around and chasing criminals all the time, two little boys sure know how to wear her out quickly. Killian pops a beer and hands her it, and the drink is cold and refreshing. "Thanks."

 

"You're welcome, milady." She rolls her eyes, and he smirks innocently (there’s no possible way it’s innocent). "What? Just being a gentleman."

 

Killian has always prided himself with being a gentleman and she knows that, but it's just his smug smile that makes her shake her head at him. "Mhm."

 

.~.

 

It doesn't feel like her bed.

 

It _isn't_ her bed.

 

The light is filtering in through curtains when she cracks an eye open. She realizes she's fallen asleep on Killian's couch from the party the previous night, and despite the pillow placed behind her neck, her neck still feels stiff. She's also been covered with a thin blanket, surely thanks to Killian's gentleman morals.

 

She met him in high school, actually, and she _hated_ his ass. But he's grown on her since and now they're practically best friends. Emma is grateful to have him as such a great friend, to include her in his own family. He's just been there for her for all these years, no matter the distance that was between them when they moved off to go to college.

 

Emma has seriously shown up at his door battered and bruised from a rough fight with one of her perps before at one in the morning and he didn't hesitate to open his arms up and help clean her up. (She's never liked hospitals considering how much the bills always cost, and she's not willing to pay any of that shit.) He's pulled out bandages and disinfectants from his cupboards and cleaned her up without much questioning, and he'll always force her into his bed to sleep instead of driving thirty minutes home with a broken rib or black eye and headache.

 

So yeah, he's seen her at her worst.

 

Sitting up, she rubs her eyes and cracks another yawn (she's still quite tired from the playing and the amount of stakeouts she's had in the past two weeks).

 

"Ah, the Swan is awake."

 

She turns at the voice, noting Killian is his plaid boxers and a white t-shirt. His hair looks damp, so it means he must have just taken a shower. Emma nearly blushes at that thought, but it's not like she hasn't seen him in boxers, or shirtless before. He's opened the door to her injured self before in the exact same choice of clothing.

 

Suddenly she has this _urge_ to want to thread her fingers through his hair and -

 

"Yeah, sorry about falling asleep last night." She rubs at her neck, hoping to work out some of the soreness, but it doesn't help at all. "I should get going, then."

 

"Nonsense, love." He moves to the kitchen and swings the fridge door open, peeking inside. "I've enough food for sharing some breakfast."

 

"I shouldn't -"

 

"Emma, you _know_ I don't care if you ever fall asleep on my couch...or my bed. You're always welcome." He chuckles and starts to make coffee and she can't help but think she _wants_ this sort of life with him. "Dark with sugar as you always liked your caffeine, right?"

 

"Uh, yeah."

 

Of course he knows how she likes to take her coffee. Of course she's welcome to stay over at his place for the night when she needs to. It's always been like this, and she _knows_ how much Killian cares. But this is the exact reason she can't get...closer to him. She can't _date_ him, that will probably ruin this good thing they have going and have had going for so many years. If she loses him - she is _not_ going to think about losing him. Emma knows he will never leave, that's why she trusts him, why she can rely on him when she can't with anyone else.

 

Instead of trying to run some bargain with him, Emma stands up and starts toward the hallway to the washroom. "You still have that spare toothbrush?"

 

"Aye, you know where it is, Swan."

 

.~.

 

"Damn you and your ability to cook a mad omelet," she mumbles.

 

"Jealous of my culinary skills, love? I could always teach you if you want to," he offers with a shrug, the teasing in his voice gone by the end of his offer.

 

And the thing is, she does want that, she could definitely take him up on that offer, but then she realizes how much she suddenly likes him _more_ than a friend and knows that she shouldn't. (A part of Emma isn't even surprised that she has more than simply platonic feelings.)

 

Well, there goes her resolve. “Everyone knows I’m a mess in the kitchen.”

 

“That -” he grabs a napkin, “- can be fixed.”

 

“That, I’m not willing to try out.”

 

.~.

 

Long story short, Killian _forces_ Emma into the kitchen much to her chagrin.

 

Things get a little more _heated_ , between them in a way. He comes up behind her with his arms on each side, hands firm on her forearms while teaching her how to cook. Feeling him this up close is a little more than what she’s used to. It takes all of her effort to not lean back into his chest and just literally let him do the cooking.

 

Her hair is tied into a ponytail, due to the heat emitting from the stove. Emma thinks she’s losing her mind when she feels a draft come in, but it’s just his breath on her neck, his lips so _close_ to her skin. She gulps and turns the stove off, just as she feels his mouth on her neck, pressing gentle kisses up to the spot behind her ear -

 

“Emma,” he murmurs, his hands falling from her forearms to her waist.

 

There’s something there, something between them which has broken, allowing them to move close together. She doesn’t know exactly how to describe it, but it’s definitely crossing the _friendship_ line, something she’s been trying to avoid from doing the entire time. Yet, she still turns in his arms, and there’s a look in his eyes like desire, and _love_ and woah -

 

The way he’s looking at her, she realizes she’s _always_ been over the line. They’ve always been more than friends, she’s just refused to believe so. Now she _knows_ so, and she realizes she loves him, loves him unlike the way she loves David as family.

 

But she can’t stay those three little words yet, she’s not exactly at that point, despite how much she knows she loves Killian Jones.

 

Besides...Emma Swan is not for words.

 

She can’t keep herself from shifting onto her tippy-toes and closing her eyes.

 

And she can’t keep herself from kissing him either. No, no, it’s not just the way _he_ kisses her, it’s just how it simply _feels_. It feels right, and right has been something she’s been looking for for so long, yet it does not scare her the slightest bit that she feels it when it comes to Killian. He’s always been her constant, her anchor in life, and she can’t be happier to have such a close friend.

 

Being in the kitchen in his house _with_ him almost feels natural.

 

(Almost because they’re not exactly _together_.)

 

Emma certainly can’t ignore how his fingers skim her jaw and falls to her chin. She certainly can’t ignore how he shifts their positions three steps to the right before she’s pressed up against the counter.

 

She’s never kissed anyone like this before, let alone have this sort of reciprocation. He pulls away (damn it) and leans his forehead against hers, and she smiles, licking her lips to savour the flavour and _everything_ that just happened.

 

“I should teach you how to cook more often if it results in this position every time.”

 

For a moment, she just blinks, and then she bursts into a fit of laughter and drops her forehead to his shoulder, her hands pressing against his chest. “I thought you’d at least say something serious after that.”

 

“Well,” he begins, “you know me.”

 

She thought he was going to say something serious then, but it appears not. Emma supposes she’ll have to take that turn, then. “You know I suck at words.”

 

“Actions speak louder than words…” he trails off, quirking an eyebrow up.

 

“Trying to get me to kiss you again?”

 

His lips purse together and he shrugs, that stupid smirk written all over his face. “Certainly doesn’t hurt, love.”

 

.~.

 

It’s late, she shouldn’t be here...so she breaks in. (Not like she hasn’t done it millions of times before.)

 

Padding her way through his house as quietly as she can (at least she’s being thoughtful to let him sleep), she collapses on his couch, cradling the side of her abdomen from the pain of a stupid kick to the side. (She really shouldn’t have shown mercy with her jumper in the first place.)

 

Now she’s owning a bruise at her cheek, some scraped up knuckles, and surely a bloomy bruise on her waist somewhere.

 

She really just doesn’t want to go back to her apartment, the boring, stale place which doesn’t feel like home. She feels at home _here_ , in his house.

 

.~.

 

“Killian?”

 

“Aye, it’s me,” he murmurs, dabbing something on her cheek.

 

Emma cracks an eye open to look at him; he’s focused. “I didn’t want to wake you up last night, not when you have a party today.”

 

“That you’re rightfully attending,” he responds, wiping at her cheek. “Well, rightfully attending with a bruise to your beautiful face, unfortunately.” Killian sighs and pulls back. “Give me your hands, Swan, because those aren’t going to treat itself.”

 

“You seem mad.”

 

He hesitates, but shakes his head. “Just concerned for your safety, Emma.”

 

“I can take care of myself,” she murmurs, wincing when he dabs her knuckles.

 

“I know,” he whispers, “but it doesn’t mean I still won’t be concerned when you break into my home with bruises to your face, a broken rib, or even a scraped knee.”

 

This is why she’s so in love with him. He trusts her, he puts his belief in her, but he still _cares_ an endless amount about her, and that’s what really matter. It’s him patching her back up, him covering her up with a blanket, him kissing her forehead or her cheek, him making them _breakfast_ no matter the reason she’s with him or not at his place.

 

Sometimes the little things do _really_ matter more than the big.

 

“I’ve got something to give you.”

 

“What is it?”

 

He stands up and moves around, grabbing something and returning to kneel in front of her. “This.” He sets some key in her hand and she examines it.

 

“A key.”

 

“To this house,” he says. “You already spend half of your time here when you’re not out after a perp, love, this is already a home to you. I’ve spent my years pining after you, Swan, I think it’s about time in our relationship that we don’t need to spend time apart so often. We’re _together_ \- would love to think since high school, so...just take it. Utilize it and stop breaking into this place in the middle of the night before I grab a knife and mistake you for a robber.”

 

.~.

 

She doesn’t make it halfway through the party before she wants to sleep.

 

“No more adrenaline now, Swan?”

 

Emma rolls her eyes half-heartedly. “I spent my entire day going after a dude yesterday and slept on a couch.”

 

“Fair point.”

 

At least this time when she falls asleep, she doesn’t wake up on the couch, but in his bed (which smells of rum and spice), another breakfast waiting for her in the kitchen, and a kiss from a man she most definitely does love.

 


	76. say it every day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 25\. it sucks to be colour blind, but you always tell me how beautiful I am to be super sweet and loving AU

For her being unable to differentiate colours sometimes...it's tough on her, and she's always struggled a little with it, even after developing her own coping mechanism with it. As a kid, she remembers screwing some colours up, mistaking violet for blues or reds for a brown when colouring.

 

And yet, twenty-nine years later, all she can do is deal with it.

 

But luckily for her, she knows she's not alone. Emma still has some amazing friends and a boyfriend who's been more than accommodating to the entire ride within the last few months since they've been together.

 

Reading traffic lights, looking at colour-coded graphs or anything of the sort, has always been extremely annoying. She hates having to drive around if the traffic lights aren't those that flash; her greens would look like brown and then the red and yellows look the same. Luckily enough, Storybrooke doesn't have that much traffic, so it's not that big of a deal.

 

Emma always needs David to be in charge of distinguishing colours. It's just how it is in her daily routine of things. But, of course she has a way to handle with things, she's adapted generally well through the years.

 

It's a late night patrol that keeps her out until a little past midnight, when she enters her dark apartment, flicking the lights to her bedroom on while she hears the water running in the washroom. Most people thinks about the colour of the clothes they wear. Emma sometimes thinks about that, but it's not every day, not unless she _has_ to put together some outfit. She just grabs a pair of flannel pants and a t-shirt, not even thinking about what colours they are, and slipping it on, chucking her jeans and jacket aside onto a chair.

 

She is beyond exhausted from the day's amount of paperwork, problem-solving with some of the dwarves, and a late night patrol.

 

"Oh, you're home."

 

She's startled, placing her phone down from setting the alarm, turning around to see him at the doorway. "Yeah, just got back."

 

He takes a couple steps forward, his thumbs pressing beneath her eyes gently, and soft smile on his face. "Shall I draw a bath?"

 

"Sure," she responds with a tired smile.

 

The moment she sets foot into the bath, leaning back into his chest, the knots in her muscles finally relax. The water isn't entirely hot, but it's a little steamy and enough to ease all of her tensions. Killian presses his fingers into her shoulders and she arches her back just a little bit, groaning because she did not even notice she had such tense shoulders all day.

 

"Bloody beautiful," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. "But you seem troubled tonight, love. What is it?"

 

"You're told the sun is yellow," she starts to say, "the sky is blue, the grass is green. Sometimes I just...wonder what it'd feel like to not have any colour deficiencies, you know? To just see things as they _are_ instead of _assuming_ because colours appear differently. To know the exact colour of my hair as it is, the shade of blue of your eyes..." she trails off, feeling a little embarrassed about what she's saying. "I mean, having this sort of colour blindness doesn't bother me all that much, but I guess it's just curiosity."

 

"Nothing wrong with exploring the wonders since colour is such a marvelous thing," he tells her, his thumbs brushing her over arms beneath the water. "Your hair is golden like the sun, just as they describe it. My eyes are as possible as those sky blues. Your eyes are green like the grass or of fallen leaves before autumn begins. Whatever you see, love, is just as beautiful as what I can see, or what others can. Beauty and colour depends on the way you perceive it."

 

Emma does not know how to respond to what he's said. It's like she can nearly imagine it the way he describes it, even if she has a different sense to colours and appearances. It takes her a moment, leaning her head back onto his shoulder, wet skin sliding against each other, the bathroom fogging up. "And how do you perceive beauty?"

 

He presses a kiss to her temple, sighing quietly.

 

She knows he already compliments her all the time. He does this just about every day. In the mornings they wake up as a complete mess or the nights where she just plops onto the bed, sleep immediately finding her when her head hits the pillow, to even the small moments of him bringing her a lunch while she's stuck in the office. Sometimes it's just _hello, beautiful_ or _you look stunning today, swan_ all the way to _you're bloody gorgeous every day_. She doesn't know why he has to say this to her every day, why he has to come up and shoot her a nice compliment, but it warms her in a way she's never felt before.

 

(Plus, he knows how it makes her smile, even on her grumpier days.)

 

 "When it's in front of me."

 

.~.

 

She's just sitting in the cruiser, parked on Main Street, hardly awake because Will has been onto his shenanigans again and Emma is responsible for chasing him down. Her phone buzzes and she reaches for it while her eyes are glued on the library (he stole a _book_ last time), before unlocking her phone and glancing down at what's on the screen.

 

**_Killian: I didn't get to tell you today, but I know you're beautiful, love._ **

 

By now, she can't even be frustrated with her late night stakeout, so she types back, **_thank you, Killian_** while smiling, and shuts her phone off from further distractions. If she knows him at all, there will be at least one voicemail scolding her about turning her phone off, with the addition of his message said aloud instead of through a text.

 

.~.

 

There's a reason she does not attend any formal or grand events. It requires...putting together an attire, one with matching colours and clothes, or a beautiful dress. Emma is not entirely into that stuff, and it's not because of a dress or the wine or snobby people that may attend, it's because _it requires putting together an attire_. It's not like jeans and sweaters or t-shirts. It's just different and off the radar for her.

 

Except, she _has_ to make an exception this time around. It's Liam and Elsa's wedding, Killian is obviously the best man being the younger brother, and that means she's his date. There's no way she can refuse that offer. (Besides, if Killian went with another woman on his arm, she'd be pissed. And if he went alone, she's feel guilty.)

 

It takes her a while to get any makeup on and her hair curled the way she wants it to be, and when she steps out of the washroom, Killian is standing in front of a mirror, tying his tie. He's only in the pants and a navy blue dress shirt, but he's just as handsome as ever. (It's not often he's all dolled up like this, anyways, so she'll admire all she wants.) Her dress is still sitting on the bed, some shade of blue ( _light blue_ , Killian confirms). It's just good to have friends who can help with the shopping and such, to coordinate dresses with all the other men as well.

 

"You don't have your dress on yet, but you still look stunning."

 

She scoffs at how cheesy he is before picking the dress up. "And you clean up sharply, Mr. Jones."

 

Killian shrugs with a small smile. "I try."

 

Oh, he doesn't really _need_ to try. According to Ruby, who is respectfully dating Victor (on and off type of thing, though), Killian Jones is sex on a stick. And Emma Swan wholeheartedly agrees.

 

The troubles of wearing a zip-up dress when you can't reach the back -

 

"Need a hand, love?"

 

"Yeah."

 

Weddings make her think a lot. And now that she's in a relationship with Killian, it makes her think even _more_ , and considering she's also the maid of honour, she's just going to be really reflective and thoughtful today.

 

When his fingers brush her back gently, she shudders just a little bit, and he notices because he chuckles before telling her all's done. He leans over her shoulder and kisses her cheek, murmuring how much she's a marvel, and he's _really_ pouring out all the compliments today as if he hasn't told her for months on end. Emma makes no move to stop him because she likes this side of him, this soft and gentle and loving man with a big heart drumming to the sound of her own heartbeat. Yet, to know he's suffered heartbreak as well, just makes her own heart swell and her soul soar along with him.

 

He makes her feel as normal as any person can be, no matter she's colour blind or not, and that's simply enough in her standards. He's a gentleman at best, a pirate at some points, and she loves him with all of her heart. She never even knew she could love someone like this, experience this sort of emotion bubbling in her stomach, or spare even a lingering thought at having someone like him in her life.

 

"Ready, Swan?" he eventually asks, grabbing the final piece, his black jacket slung over the chair.

 

She grins and nods.

 

.~.

 

It's late by the time they stumble into the apartment hardly awake and clearly exhausted from all the duties of being the best man and maid of honour. At least the both of them are relatively sober tonight.

 

(Just relatively.)

 

"I need a hand again."

 

It's slow and messy, the way they undress and then get dressed again for bed (well, Killian doesn't really dress again, he just changes into another pair of boxers and dives into the bed shirtless after brushing his teeth). But then there's the process of her removing any makeup remaining on her face, and she nearly falls asleep with her head inside the sink with the water running.

 

("Bloody hell, love, you're not going to sleep like that," he mutters, barging into the washroom with the need to use the toilet.

 

She shoots him a tired, but sharp look. "Try me."

 

"I'd rather not.")

 

By the time they're _both_ in bed, eyes closed and breathing slowing down, it's been nearly an hour since they got home in the first place.

 

"I love you."

 

She can only muster up enough energy to hum and press her face closer into his chest while relishing that smell of cologne still clinging onto his body.

 

.~.

 

In the morning, she remembers him telling her those three words, something she's always tried to purposefully avoid, but hearing them...it wasn't so bad, at least, that's how she remembers it. Rolling around, she glances at the clock, peeking with one open eye, to find it's only six, but she still has Sheriff duties around town, therefore she _has_ to get up in about fifteen minutes and head to the station.

 

Internally, she groans.

 

Externally, Killian pulls her closer. "Too early, Swan," he grumbles, his accent deeper and his voice thick with sleep. "Back to sleep."

 

"I have a job," she says.

 

"To hell with that, darling, stay in bed a little longer."

 

"Fifteen minutes."

 

"Twenty."

 

"Seventeen."

 

" _Twenty_."

 

"Fine, twenty," she concedes, closing her eyes.

 

Despite him being as much as a sailor as Liam, the sea in their _blood_ , he's not one for early mornings. And honestly, she doesn't care very much, because he looks utterly bothered when she has to wake early and undeniably cute with his hair sticking up in different directions, a lazy smile forming on his lips, and his eyes squinting from the sunlight flooding in through the window.

 

( _"How you manage to look marvelous in the morning is beyond my understanding."_

_"I'm always a mess in the morning," she mumbles, rubbing her eyes, "so I don't know what you're talking about."_

_He grins down at her. "Blasphemy, Swan."_ )

 

When twenty minutes are up, she gently elbows his bare chest and he tightens his arms around her instead of letting go. "Oh, come on, it's been twenty minutes," she tells him. "David hates it when I'm late. _You_ hate his wrath, since he nearly punched you that time."

 

"He did punch me that time," he corrects her, releasing her.

 

While she gets dressed, Emma can feels his eyes on her, and she wonders why he's staring at her like that. "And what're you staring at?" she asks, reaching for her signature leather jacket.

 

"How bloody beautiful you look in the morning," he says softly, his voice so genuine and _pure_. "The sun shining on you like a god forsaken angel, Emma. Your bed head, the smile that's nearly invisible but there even when you don't notice it." He sighs and stands up, taking her hands in his and pressing his forehead against hers. Just a quiet moment between two people.

 

The sun _is_ warm against her skin, one of the few things she likes about mornings. "I love you, too." The words are out of her mouth before she can even regret about taking it back, but it feels natural to say it, in moments like these. Loud or quiet, actually. She's been thinking about it for a long while now, she's only been pushing it off. But, hearing him whisper it last night sparked something inside of her.

 

It doesn't matter to her what colour she sees, how much a misconception can anger her one moment or not. She doesn't doubt the sense of beauty and love and colours as much as she used to anymore. That light has dimmed, very well thanks to Killian Jones, and she thinks ( _knows_ deep down in her heart, a decorated room carved out for this precious man) that he is the very one she's needed all her life.

 

The feeling doesn't tackle her to the floor - as much as she thought it would - but, instead it's almost like those stereotypical gooey, mushy, romantic movies.

 

Whatever this feeling is, regardless of what form it’s taken itself as, she's not trading it for anything else.

 


	77. you are the air i breathe

They don’t meet on coincidental circumstances, but he first meets her on a tree, up at the top, staring out at the view.

 

“Hey.”

 

She whips her head around. “Oh, hey.”

 

“So, love, what’re you doing up here?” he asks, scooting a little bit on the branch, his foot stuck between where a branch and trunk meet.

 

“Just the view,” she whispers, nodding toward the horizon. “Looks pretty cool from up here, especially in the morning for sunrise, or the evenings for sunset. A good way to clear my head from...uh, yeah, just a good way to clear my head.”

 

Her hesitance on that bit catches his attention, but there’s some underlying sadness beneath her eyes. Killian licks his lips quickly and nods, looking over out over the horizon. It’s like how Liam takes him sailing and they get to see the starry nights or the red and orange rays in the skies during sunset. “Aye, a spectacular view,” he agrees.

 

“What’re you doing up here, anyways?” she asks, swinging one of her legs back and forth.

 

“Curiosity of why you’re up here,” he answers with a casual shrug, smiling softly. “But now that you’ve mentioned it, I may come up here for the view again, as long as you don’t kick my arse back down.”

 

She laughs, shaking her head. “Right. But you’re welcome to climb up here, it’s not like I own the tree.”

 

He grins, climbing just a little higher to hitch his leg up onto a branch so he doesn’t have to do the entire half-sitting and half-standing thing. “So, you just moved here, aye?” He’s noticed, it’s not often people move into Storybrooke.

 

Any hint of a smile or a laugh is gone, her face falling a little as she nods. “Yeah.”

 

It’s only a guess on his part, given he’s only sixteen and one of the popular (apparently also the hottest guy) in school. “I’m Killian - Killian Jones,” he introduces and sticks a hand out to shake, keeping the other hand firmly against the tree to keep his balance.

 

She takes up his offer at a handshake. “Emma Swan.”

 

There’s this _look_ in her green eyes, something she’s trying to hide from him, and he wonders what’s got her walls up so high, why she’s so guarded. But any topic on her past or where she comes from is a subject he doesn’t approach, nor does he even hint towards the idea. Emma doesn’t seem very fond of it whatsoever, thus he’s going to keep his curiosity to himself instead of wondering aloud. Not like he has to wait very long before he knows what goes on deep down inside of her - news spreads quickly through school.

 

“Wait, she’s an orphan?” It sounds like he’s whispering and shouting simultaneously, well, _loudly whispering_ should do. “Bloody hell, that explains quite a bit.”

 

“You already know her?” Robin asks.

 

“Aye, we’re... _friends_. Neighbours. Met and hung out with her during the summer,” he explains briefly, scratching behind his ear. She’s exactly like _him_ , like his family, which only consists of him and Liam anyways. “She’s nice, why the rumours?”

 

“You know, that’s exactly how it goes when it comes to anyone new in town. Find ways to bring the new one down,” Robin says, crossing his arms. “You’ve never cared before, though.”

 

“I care because she’s a friend - friends don’t gossip like school girls, Locksley,” he growls back, insistent of his good form. “Mills is rubbing off on you.”

 

“Hey, mate, I think I’m rubbing off on _her_.”

 

“I wager she’s the one who started the rumours.”

 

“Uh - okay, _perhaps_ , but I’ll ask her during lunch today for clarification,” Robin promises, slinging his bag over a shoulder. “Time for bloody math as homeroom,” he grumbles. “See you later.”

 

“Good luck, mate,” Killian chuckles, standing up and brushing off his behind, grabbing his bag from off the floor.

 

.~.

 

He catches her in his sight, sitting in a seat near the left side of the classroom, closer to the door, but near the back. She doesn’t seem exactly happy today, not like the times he’s seen her smile before up on that tree during their afternoons or early mornings when they’ve snuck out of their houses, just across from each other, to go climb up the tree. And there’s definitely no pain in her eyes...what’s left is just something empty, a replacement like none other than a void.

 

Hesitating only takes a moment before he plops down in the seat in front of her, dropping his bag black onto the floor and twisting in the seat. “Hey, Swan.” He grins, just happy to see her being in one of his core classes. “How’s day one?”

 

“Not too bad, so far,” she mumbles, “keywords _so far_.”

 

“Come on, lass, attending school with _that_ attitude of course makes it like so. Lighten up, ignore the gossiping girls, and you’ll do just fine.”

 

“They all say you’re that popular, good looking guy.”

 

He shrugs. “Nothing I haven’t been claimed before - I’ve gotten used to their name calling. But, what do you say, aren’t I rather dashing?”

 

Emma scoffs, a smile curling at her lips. _There she is_ , he thinks, smiling himself.

 

“Should I even bother stroking your ego?”

 

“Plenty of options.”

 

“I’ll just imagine you didn’t insinuate anything there.”

 

He raises an eyebrow before turning back to face the front, smirk blown right over his face, just as the teacher walks in. “Whatever floats your boat, Swan,” he utters quietly.

 

.~.

 

Nothing changes between, not their dynamic, not their friendship, _nothing_. The knowledge that she’s an orphan doesn’t change the way he thinks about her, and considering rumours and gossip have died down within the last two weeks, she’s not really the _new girl_ in school anymore. He’s convinced himself that in the last four months, everything’s been a platonic friendship.

 

Except, it’s not. When he sees her talking to Graham, there’s this feeling that doesn’t sit well in the pit of his stomach. Jealousy is not something that bodes well with Killian Jones. Besides, he is _not_ jealous, of course he’s not. They’re friends.

 

Just friends.

 

(Fucking _lie_.)

 

.~.

 

“So...you and Graham.”

 

“Graham and I? There is no us, Killian.”

 

He crosses his arms, not exactly believing her. “Really?”

 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re jealous,” she teases.

 

“Most certainly not,” he denies smoothly, shaking his head.

 

 _Still a lie_ , his brain sings.

 

.~.

 

Halfway through the year, he begins to actually realize he _does_ like her, despite never crossing the line of being friends. She fits in well with his group of friends and a few people she finds, he doesn’t want to ruin anything between them.

 

But, apparently even as social as she can be during or in between classes, he still sees her up on that tree so often. After school, before school, after dinner. It’s also been their little meeting place, the spot where they both sit, with the breeze through their hair, and the sunlight peeking in between leaves. Where they can see over the water and into the horizon without anyone bothering them.

 

Liam keeps telling him to go for it, that he may as well considering they’ve only got a little over a year before college. But god, Killian is just too frightened to ruin their relationship with getting romantically involved.

 

But he really, _really_ , screws things up the day the tree is getting cut down (to be replaced with a house on the land) which Emma loves so much, when he doesn't climb up to support her despite being her best friend and neighbour and understanding _exactly_ what that tree means between them. He can't afford to miss school over a _tree_ , so against better judgment, he doesn't, leaving Emma alone.

 

The tree is gone by the end of the day.

 

The flip in their friendship is more painful than ever. She looks like she only puts half her effort into classes, like she's lost the energy in herself to fight or play. She won’t speak to him at all, and this is biting him in the arse, and he knows he deserves it. She's been abandoned so many times, yet the one time she probably didn't feel abandoned, he left her to her own devices. It hurts to see the tree stump when he passes by. It hurts to see that she never talks to him anymore. It hurts to see that her face is empty and full of more melancholy than anything. Killian realizes he's been a sodding prat that she doesn't ever want to talk to again.

 

He doesn't blame her.

 

An idea sparks in his head on a Friday afternoon (after an entire week of frustration), sort of paying attention to class while scribbling down his idea to make sure he doesn't forget. He's just glad when the teacher calls on him to answer, he manages to answer correctly. Partial attentive listening is helpful at a time like this.

 

.~.

 

It's a Saturday morning when he knocks on _their_ door, the Nolan's. Killian likes them, sure he does, but the man is the Sheriff and the woman is the teacher that taught him in elementary, so there's a little history between them.

 

"Killian."

 

"Good morning, Mr. Nolan, sir...I - uh..." He scratches behind his ear, nervous to present his idea. "I know I hurt your daughter's feelings when I didn't stand up with her for the sake of that tree she really loved. And I haven't gotten the chance to apologize since she's quite adept at hiding from me - and, make no mistake, I don't blame her." He sighs, taking a deep breath in. "I want to do something to make it up for her. I want to plant a tree, on your front lawn, just for her."

 

"Trees take a long time to grow," the man says, crossing his arms over his chest. That isn't an approval, not permission.

 

Killian swallows the lump in his throat away and nods, sheepishly smiling. "I'm aware," he responds. "But I...I think I _really_ like her, and she's a good friend and neighbour, and I really understand what that tree meant. I want her to get this sentiment, if you would so graciously allow it, sir." God, he feels like a bumbling loser. "I was a bloody git, that day. I know."

 

"And that's all the reason? You want to date her?"

 

"No!" Killian exclaims quickly (probably a little pathetic, too), shaking his head. "Her feelings are important to me, regardless of our relationship status. I want to see her smile again, I miss her as a friend." After a moment of silence, he has one more thing to say. "A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets."

 

Sheriff Nolan is a tad bit intimidating, especially when it comes to his family. "Alright, you can do it. But, you hurt her again, I'll make your own brother throw you into a cell."

 

"Thank you." He grins (the man did just give him blessings to _date_ ), nodding at his warning, too. "I'll be more cautious this time. I promise." And he means to keep his promise, because if her silence hasn't been hell enough, he'd rather not know what actual hell is.

 

As he steps off the porch, he sighs in relief and runs across the street, back up to his room, plopping down on his bed with a smile. He just hopes this will work out.

 

.~.

 

By Sunday afternoon, he has a tree Liam helped him buy, while he’s digging a hole in the front yard at a specific spot, hoping it will grow well with proper care.

 

He catches her by the window, staring at him with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes, and he just smiles at her, hoping she’ll come out so they can finally put this hardship past them. He misses her a lot. He misses getting to sling his shoulder around her shoulders like they’re having fun, or sitting with her during lunch. It’s the small things in his day with her that brightens his life up, and without her, all he knows is that it feels a bit dull.

 

She’s already somehow incorporated herself into his daily life, and he can’t cage her out, no matter how hard he tries. Not that he is trying, considering he wants more than friendship.

 

“You’re planting a tree.”

 

Killian sets the tree into the pit he’s dug and turns to face her. “Aye.” He shrugs and turns back to look at the thin trunk. “I thought it could...be something new. It can’t replace the other one, but…” With a hopeless sigh, he starts kicking dirt in to fill in the vacant space. “I’m sorry, Swan, for leaving you alone when you needed me. I was a bad friend, probably still am, but, would you like to help?”

 

There’s this hope in him that she’ll come over and help him pack the soil back up and then water it, and watch it grow for the next few years.

 

God, he’s so happy when he sees her smile and nod, that being an answer enough.

 

Their hands are dirty and so are their jeans, but with the easy flowing conversation going on, he knows things are moving back to the way they are.

 

“It’ll take a long time to grow as large as the previous one, but it’s worth a shot.”

 

"Killian?"

 

He turns his attention to her. "Aye?"

 

"Thanks."

 

Killian grins. "You're welcome, Swan."

 

That's when he realizes he's sitting awfully close to her, their faces only a few inches apart. He wants to kiss her, god does he want to, but he's promised her father not to break her heart, nor does he want to hurt what they've just reconciled. But, he's a stupid lad, a stupid lad may dream and be bold, so he leans in, and he hesitates in front of her lips, hoping she feels the same, before he finally kisses her, twisting his body to face hers better. His dirty hand tangles in her hair then, and it's a little awkward to be kissing out on her front lawn, but he's not regretting it.

 

He doesn't regret it when someone clears their throat, when they back apart and turn their heads toward the front porch where Mr. Nolan is standing, an unamused look on his face.

 

"It's time for dinner, Emma."

 

Pulling out his phone, he realizes it's already six.

 

"He's like that," she whispers.

 

"I should get going, Liam's probably expecting me."

 

"You live right across the street, it's not like you're gonna be late." She chuckles, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'll see you at school?"

 

"Absolutely," is the one word he can utter out, too taken away by this girl he's fallen head over heels for. "Have a nice dinner, love."

 

.~.

 

Liam knows everything. He saw exactly what's transpired between them on his _one_ day off from work. He's seen them make up, kiss, sit there like embarrassed fools in front of her father. But, despite all the teasing throughout dinner and the following morning, it's definitely worth it when he gets to sidle up beside Emma and get to smile and talk like nothing's wrong anymore. And there's nothing wrong at all, not the slightest bit of a problem left.

 

During lunch, he pulls her outside to the back of the school field, hiding behind the bleachers and kissing her without worry but with fervor. Killian can feel the curve of her grin against his lips, and boy, he knows he's already half way into loving her. There's no simple way to explain how attracted he is to her, no matter where she is or how she looks, no matter of what time it is of the day. Aye, they're young and dumb (and probably in love), but he just can't imagine anyone else to cherish. And he's _sixteen_ , turning seventeen in 3 months.

 

And between classes, if he gets to see her, he'll slide his fingers between hers and smile sweetly, dropping her off at class before he moves onto his a couple rooms down the hall or down the stairs to somewhere else.

 

And at the end of the day, he'll find her and kiss her forehead before tangling their fingers together again to walk home with a simple, quiet conversation (maybe _some_ raucous laughter). There's something about the simple gesture of just holding hands that gets him. Like an assurance of his presence; that he wants to be with her, no matter what looks they get or what others say.

 

News travel fast that the most popular boy in school is dating the orphan (who's technically with her biological family now), but he doesn't care.

 

Her birthday nears closer with every passing day, and he and Liam takes her out sailing, the wind in their hair and the sun on their skin, even the salty sea breeze with every breath they take. It's not the ideal sailing season, but weather permits them well on a cool autumn day.

 

It goes on for months.

 

Between stolen make-out sessions in his bedroom while they're supposed to be studying, to the movies nights where she falls asleep with her head on his shoulder during spring break, his affections grow further and further for Emma.

 

On his birthday, she buys him that book all about ships and pirates and treasures, and he nearly drops it, surprised she found a copy of it just for him. And just because he can and because she wants, he reads some to her on the late sleepovers (against Mr. Nolan's chagrin, mostly, and Mrs. Nolan's giddiness) with her head tucked against his shoulder, eyes closed, and breathing slow and deep.

 

The first time he says _I love you_ , is when they've finished exams and they've surely passed them all without much struggle. The amount of study sessions pay off in the end, in spite of the amount of times they've gotten distracted. "Should we break the news to your parents, love? Surely they'd want to be happy for you moving on another year."

 

"Yeah, yeah let's go do that. Together. And then we can talk to Liam later after he's back from work?"

 

"Aye." He sighs in contentment, brushing his lips over hers briefly. He doesn't want to think about the future yet, about college and moving away, of them ever splitting up. Time is passing by so quickly. "Sounds like a plan."

 

"Oh, and Killian?"

 

"Hmm?"

 

She smiles and leans forward, her lips brushing his ear. "I love you, too."

 

The brightest smile appears on his face, watching her in pure amazement as she runs off shouting something about _race you there!_ while he's still awestruck she's admitted three simple words. With the amount of times in instability and lack of love in her early years, he'd almost been sure she wasn't going to say it back. His Swan has proved him wrong once again.

 

 _His_ Swan.

 

.~.

 

Things aren't smooth sailing by the time they graduate.

 

She's staying in Storybrooke to work under her dad as the Deputy, and he's moving out to study some marine biology (and a part-time job). Neither of them are keen on their plans here, but he's got an apartment rented out which Emma's helped him moved in to already. He wants to stay, with her, but that's not a possibility. At least it's just a little over a two hour drive to spend a weekend or holiday with her, though. Not an entire day’s flight or anything.

 

Besides, with technology now, he can call and text and Skype all he bloody wants when he gets the chance.

 

"Three years, love," he murmurs, dropping his forehead against hers. "Wait for me?"

 

As small as her smile is, her answer makes up for it. "Always."

 

"And take care of our tree."

 

She laughs, her laughter a little sad but mostly in amusement, which makes his heart swell and soar.

 

"Wouldn't forget that for the world, Killian."

 

.~.

 

It's hard, for these three years.

 

He tries quite his hardest to keep in contact, but there's a lot of work and effort to put into his grades and academics just in general, so things get too heated sometimes. The extent there would be a text shot over and then back to burning his brains.

 

(And work. His temporary job for three years’ time.)

 

The one thing that helps him is the book Emma bought him nearly three years ago, keeping him company and reminding him how much he loves her, despite the distance between them at the moment. Surely a challenge for them, given that they're so in love and usually inseparable.

 

It's late one Saturday while he's reading the novel again when there's insistent knocking at the door. His hair's a mess, he's only in his briefs, and he's sleep deprived. Who the hell is knocking -

 

"Emma?"

 

"I hope you don't open the door like that to everyone," she chuckles, stepping inside and wrapping her arms around him. "Though, not wanting to sugar coat it, you look horrendous."

 

He sighs and drops his arms around her, burying his face in her heap of blonde curls, his nose making contact with her neck. "Blunt and honest...and I assure you, I don't tend to open the door like this to everyone who knocks." Killian kicks the door closed and sighs again, softly, when he feels her lips on his shoulder. "Though, a call or text might've been nice."

 

"Wanted to surprise you." She shrugs and her hands frames his face, and he leans into her touch just as he always does, craving for more contact. "You need sleep, you know."

 

"Very aware."

 

"Brush your teeth and get to bed, I'll be right there."

 

He rolls his eyes at her motherly tone, pressing his lips to her forehead before going to do as he says. "Yes, my love," he mumble, trudging off to the washroom.

 

When he returns, she's changed, and she's flipping through the book he'd left on the bed earlier when he needed to answer the door.

 

"You opted for late night reading instead of sleep?"

 

He shrugs and slips beneath the covers, running a hand through his hair. "Cliché as it sounds, Swan, it reminds me of you. A reminder of the woman I love before sleep is always a delight, isn't it?"

 

Emma sets the book aside and tugs at the charms hanging around his neck for a lazy kiss as her answer. "I love you, I really do, but you need rest."

 

"Will you stay?" he asks quietly, his eyelids beginning to give out on him.

 

"Yeah, yeah I'll stay."

 

There's always something about having such a good sleep, that when he wakes up, he has to bask in the moment and the feeling of some sunlight on his skin. It's only extra better when there's the woman he loves sleeping next to him, curled up against his side, her breathing deep and slow, her face so peaceful.

 

He's noticed through the years how there is not much of that sadness lingering in her eyes anymore, how ever since she'd been _officially_ adopted, there's more happiness and pure joy instead. (Sometimes, he likes to think and dream that he's a part of her everyday smiles, and he knows he is, but he never wants to admit that to his ‘ _stupidly large ego_ ’ according to Emma.)

 

She's a little cold, her feet pressing against his bare legs, her hands far lower than room temperature.

 

He's the one that's essentially _naked_ , why is she so cold?

 

Releasing a yawn, he presses a hand to her forehead, finding out that this part of her body is awfully hot. And the only plausible reason given that she’s between hot and cold means that she's sick. _Oh Emma_ , he thinks, rubbing his own forehead.

 

"Swan, love," he whispers, shaking her gently.

 

It takes her awhile to actually peel her eyes open and groan, her face contorting into a grimace. "Damn," she huffs out, sniffing once. "Am I sick?"

 

He laughs. "I believe you are, Emma."

 

"Pongo ran off the other day in the rain and I had to go find him. I think that is finally catching up to me, despite my usual solid immune system." She sighs, rubbing her eyes and leaving her hands on her face. "I should go before this gets any worse."

 

" _No_ ," he quickly responds, pulling her against him. "Not risking that at all, love. You're staying here until you're better, instead of driving for over two hours from Boston to Storybrooke half-sick. If you'd gotten into a bloody accident, I don't think I'd be the one surviving that."

 

"You have to study and finish up final projects."

 

"Which can be put on hold because my _significant_ other is far more important than the mere responsibility of completing my other tasks. I've already gotten most of my notes down anyways, since I reviewed about every single day." He presses a kiss to the crown of her head before slipping out of bed, grabbing himself a random black v-neck t-shirt and some sweats to throw on. "Plus, there's plenty of time in between since you _will_ be taking naps."

 

Emma grumbles something he doesn't hear properly. "Can I call my dad then, to tell him?"

 

"Aye, go ahead. I'll make breakfast."

 

"Love you," she mumbles, her hand searching for her cell on the night stand.

 

With a grin, he nods, pulling the door open. "And I you," he says back, heading down the hall into the kitchen.

 

.~.

 

After the three years of college and graduating with a close to 4.0 GPA, he packs his bags just when his lease pops up, not renewing it and driving back down to Storybrooke, the requirement to surprise Emma on his mind.

 

Her car (you can't miss it) isn't in the driveway of her parents’ house, and Liam is out (at work, most likely), so he unpacks back up to his old room and then goes on a search for Emma, assuming she's either at Granny's or the station. His money is on the station.

 

And she is at the station, face buried beyond two stacks of papers, one at each side on her desk, while she’s twirling a pen around absentmindedly. Emma seems quite focused there and he smiles, knowing she’s one of the most hardworking, focused women he knows. For good measures, he knocks and her head snaps up, and dear _god_ , the smile on her face is like a gift from the heavens, lighting up the entire room just when she sees him.

 

“Surprise.”

 

“You’re back.” She pushes her chair back and slides her arms around his neck, having to get on her tip-toes to reach his height. He always has to chuckle (their height difference is simply _perfect_ , not that he actually cares that much). “You could’ve called.”

 

“Where’s the element of surprise in that, love?” he asks, pulling her closely against him and breathing in the smell of grilled cheese, hot cocoa, and her shampoo. (He’ll never get over how wonderful she smells.)

 

“Let’s _not_ do long distance again. That sucked,” she grumbles, pulling back away from him for a kiss.

 

He often wonders where he would be or _who_ he would be without Emma in his life. “Aye, I agree.”

 

At least he’s back.

 

 _He’s back_ , unlike many others who’s left her before. Killian Jones is not making that mistake again.

 

.~.

 

They’re just sitting on her front lawn under _their_ tree in the shade, the one that’s been growing for nearly six years now, healthy and supposedly happy if you could personify it.

 

Emma sighs, propping her arms behind her head. “I miss the old tree.”

 

“As do I,” he mumbles, shifting his position a little bit. “I suppose all we can do now is hope this one will turn out just as grand as the old one.”

 

“My mom’s always talking about hope.” Emma almost sounds annoyed by the thought, but there’s a smile gracing her lips as always in these moments. Her eyes are following the clouds sifting through the blue skies of summer. “When I was younger, I thought hope was...hopeless. No pun intended. That was until my real parents came along, and you and your brother.”

 

He still remembers the first day they met up on the tree, the memory still burned into his brain, so vivid and nostalgic. Instead of saying anything, he just scoots over a little more and she drops her arms down, leaning her head on his shoulder, her hand finding his and interlacing their fingers together. He gives her a short, tight squeeze to indicate she can keep speaking her mind; that he’ll listen to her rant and vent or just simply elaborate on her thoughts.

 

“I’m not good at the entire words thing, as usual.” She chuckles, a little nervously. “But, uhm...I guess I just have to say thanks. For everything.”

 

To be honest, he wants to thank her. Or thank her parents who thought it’d been a good idea to move in the sort of shy, lost teenage girl across the street. He wants to thank everything and everyone for letting her be a part of his life, or even just him being a part of _hers_. Killian is a determined man to make her happy. As a boy, he’d thought maybe it was just going to be one of those high school relationships which ended by the end of that portion of his life. He’d refused to think about his future.

 

Until the long distance, the late night calls, or early text messages. He knew there was hope there, lucky as it may have been or not.

 

But, he doesn’t regret the troubles or the happiness they’ve been through together. That’s a good thing. A _wonderful_ thing.

 

“Marry me.”

 

The weight of her head on his shoulder is gone immediately, and he swallows. Trying this himself may be a bit absurd at the moment, but if this is what love is, he doesn’t want to experience it as simply boyfriend and girlfriend. He doesn’t want to have to live across the street from each other and not get to sleep in the same bed every night and every morning.

 

He wants everything. He wants to be that bloody selfish man he is deep down, the one who just wants love and hope and _Emma Swan_. Perhaps it’s still too early to ask her - that even after six years of taking slow steps along the way - but he’ll try it. He’ll risk it.

 

(It’s maybe a ludicrous idea of his.)

 

“I want this. I want us, Emma. I know I’ve just jumped this request on you, but I would be elated if you’d become my wife.”

 

“Do you even have a ring?”

 

Opening his mouth, he closes it in thought. “Bloody hell, fair point. I’ll be right back!” he exclaims, scrambling to get up and head toward his place.

 

He finds the ring, sitting in his old drawer still, the one his mother had. He’s not even prepared to properly propose, but he’s just going to go for it (the idea’s been on his mind, anyways). Besides, her answer isn’t really a form of rejection. Killian’s quick, slamming his bedroom door shut behind him and rushing down the wooden stairs and back out the front door toward Emma who looks like she’s been laughing.

 

Without any more time to waste by the time he’s under the tree and next to her again, he dips down onto one knee and lifts his hand up with a ring. Simple silver band with an emerald in the middle. “Marry me now that I’ve got a ring?” he asks breathlessly, that bit of a rush still aching his lungs.

 

“I think you know the answer.”

 

He raises an eyebrow. “So...yes?”

 

All he needs is her smile to know, his slightly shaking hand slipping the ring onto her finger and pushing her down onto the grass, his lips finding hers in an easy manner, feeling nothing but the lightness and happiness he’s engulfed in all thanks to his love. “God, I love you too much, darling,” he whispers against her lips, his nose just bumping hers a little bit.

 

“Is that a complaint, Mr. Jones?”

 

“Definitely not.”

 

.~.

 

There is a massive dinner on Mrs. Nolan’s account, both Liam and Killian invited in celebration of Killian and Emma’s engagement.

 

(Dav - _Mr. Nolan_ \- is shooting him daggers from his eyes, it’s a little scary and a tad intimidating in all the other possible ways.)

 

After being ushered out to the front door while Liam helps Emma’s parents - who will be his in laws soon - clean, they finally have a quiet, somewhat private moment to themselves. There’s an odd reminder in his brain that he’s going to get _married_. It’s a nearly indescribable feeling in his book, that he’ll be with her, through the good and the bad and _everything_ (they’ve essentially already been going through this), but actually be husband and wife.

 

But, there’s another reminder on the loose of how it all started, just sitting out there on the front lawn.

 

There is no love or human out there he knows of that can replace her. As cheesy as it sounds, from the depths of his heart and soul, he is very much attached to her in every way. Through understanding and love itself, he feels the same as her.

 

And he _hopes_ , standing there while he gets to kiss her until they both can’t breathe, she feels the same as he does. He no longer worries for his future with her.

 

As rough as it’ll get, he just _knows_ it’ll work out.

 

(Liam nearly stumbles in on their moment.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, this fic was inspired by the movie "Flipped" which was an adaptation from the novel, of course. it was also mainly composed of a lot of my favourite tropes (hence this being like 5.6k words, lol).


	78. no killing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 21\. “i have to make out with someone for the play and oh dear god it’s that attractive arsehole i wanted to murder yesterday” au

She's been hoping all day that nothing goes wrong with her audition, and she is ecstatic when the roles are posted up and she sees her name listed besides the protagonist. The entire day prior to auditions was spent worrying and nearly kicking this British guy in the balls because he'd been bothering her while she was going through her lines over and over.

 

There's a casting call at the end of the day, and when she heads there, she wants to _gouge_ her eyes out because the guy she's wanted to not see is standing there talking to other members of the cast for this play.

 

Inhaling a deep breath, it apparently catches his eye and they lock gazes, a knowing smirk on his face and an annoyed one on hers. His name includes Jones, or something, but Emma doesn't like him very much. Too cocky, some gigantic ego, it's just not the type of person she likes. (Yet how she managed to tolerate him yesterday is beyond her own understanding. But she did want to murder him at some point, too, just that she'd never ended up doing so.) (Not that she _was_ going to murder him.)

 

"We meet again," he greets enthusiastically, that smirk still plastered on his face.

 

She really wants to punch him.

 

(She expects herself to during some point if he's involved with the play.)

 

(She _may_ get kicked out and replaced if she does, though.)

 

"I guess we do," she responds, putting up one of her smiles that doesn't scream excitement of any sorts. "But, why are you here?"

 

"Got casted for the Captain of course," he proudly exclaims.

 

 

_Shit, shit, shit...shit._

 

"Oh." Brilliant response that is, managing to utter one word that isn't really a word, but more of a stunned response which Emma has no other idea how to respond to. Of course luck hates her, pairing her up with him, being his love interest

 

And a _kiss_.

 

 _Shit_ , come on, she has to _kiss him_?

 

"And you?" he asks, breaking the silence between them.

 

For a moment, Emma considers not answering him and just strolling away, but he's going to find out eventually, and by eventually, it's in five minutes or less. "I'm playing the role of the Savior," she finally tells him, and the way his eyes sparkle with amusement, a glint of surprise at the edge of his blue eyes, but there's something about him that screams I knew it. "Yeah, yeah, I _know_ ," she grumbles, waving him off so he doesn't have to say it.

 

Of course she'd known what she was getting herself into, but now seeing that she'll have to kiss the guy she wanted to practically murder yesterday...well, this is going to be interesting.

 

"Oh, love, where are my manners, we haven't been... _formally_ introduced." His hands sticks out. "Killian Jones."

 

Reluctant as she is, she sighs and takes him up on that handshake, his palm warm, but grip firm. "Emma Swan." And if things couldn't get any worse, he gently brings her hand up and actually kisses her knuckles softly as if it's she's royalty and he's some prince suitor. "Really?" is all she manages to ask, blinking in plain confusion.

 

"Just being a gentleman," he responds with a sly grin, letting her hand drop. "I'm sure it'll be a pleasure to be working with you, Swan."

 

"Right."

 

He, by far, is one of the most cockiest (and attractive) men she's ever met in her twenty-one years of life, but there's something else about him that isn't _too_ bad. It almost seems like he's just got walls of his own, and being flirtatious and a smug bastard is his way of handling and protecting himself. Emma isn't entirely sure on this, but it's a wild, possibly accurate guess, and she reckons it will still be a pain in the ass to work with him, but there must be ways she can deal with him.

 

The director gathers them up in a circle, asking everyone to introduce themselves. By just a simple few glances, Emma already sees familiar faces - Regina, Peter, David.

 

"Your first job will be to familiarize yourself with the script and practice all your scenes, see what will work and what doesn't."

 

Yes, _of course_ that's the first step of it all. But, she is not concerned about any scenes, really, she comes prepared ahead of time to know how to act. But, what she is concerned about is her requirement to kiss Killian Jones, the asshole who she's had vile thoughts about killing (sort of).

 

_Damn it._

 

.~.

 

"Strictly professional, Jones."

 

"Aye, I'm aware of _professionalism_ , Swan," he counters back, attitude written all over his face. "It's not as if I intend to fall in love with you like this play does," he continues to say, waving the rolled up script around.

 

"Me neither," she grumbles, eyes scanning over the next scene they're to practice. Of course she doesn't intend to fall in love with him, that's nearly impossible the way all of their talking is hardly anything besides banter. They're not exactly _compatible_ (that's what she thinks). "So...next scene."

 

"Ah yes, the famous kiss scene," he announces with a grin.

 

Of course he's enthusiastic about a stupid kiss. Emma on the other hand, well, she's not very enthusiastic or interested in kissing him whatsoever. The thought makes her stomach churn and messes up all of her thoughts. "It's just a kiss."

 

There's a break in their conversation. She can feel his eyes glued onto her, burning a hole into her head like he's analysing her.

 

"You don't sound very happy, love."

 

She sighs, rubbing her eyes. "When I’m running on three hours of sleep while having to deal with a certain Killian Jones, it's safe to say I'm definitely not very _in the mood_ ," Emma retorts.

 

“I’m wounded,” he dramatically claims, feigning offence with a hand over his heart.

 

“Can we just get this over with?”

 

“As you wish.”

 

She can’t help but roll her eyes at him, taking lines out from the play to use for himself. Inhaling a deep breath, she tucks away the script into her pocket and gets into her role.

 

“You really save his life?” she asks, noticing his eyes trained toward the ground, body sideways and not facing her.

 

“That surprise you?” he finally questions after a quiet moment.

 

She’s supposed to hand him back a flask of rum, but of course she doesn’t have that around to play with. “Well,” she begins, “you and David aren’t exactly -” she sucks in a thoughtful breath, “- how do you say it... _mates_.” It’s her shitty copy of a British accent.

 

Killian...or well, _Captain Hook_ , glances away and turns back to face her, peeking from beneath his lashes. “Doesn’t mean I leave your father to perish on this island.”

 

It’s her attempt at making her thank you sound as genuine as possible, softening her eyes with the smallest, curt nod possible. “Thank you.”

 

He does that _thing_ , the one where he scratches behind his ear like a nervous puppy. “Well -” he drags his fingers to his lips, and raising head a little, finger tapping at his lips, a teasing smile grows on his face, “- perhaps gratitude is in order now.”

 

This _savior_ , cannot stop the small smile that grows on _her_ face. “Yeah, that’s what the ‘thank you’ was for.”

 

His smile is more of a smirk as he steps forward, ignoring all possibilities of personal space. “Is that all your father’s life is worth to you?”

 

“Please,” she says, a small shake of her head, “you couldn’t handle it.”

 

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle _it_.”

 

And his eyes are stupidly blue as she searches them for no apparent reason, just trying to play her role in this play during rehearsal. Right, she’s supposed to kiss him here. So, she does. He’s not in costume at the moment, but he’s got a leather jacket on when she grips by the lapels, crushing her own lips against his in a hungry, spur-of-the-moment manner, just as it’s supposed to be.

 

What’s _not_ supposed to be is how this kiss feels more than simply professionalism, how it feels like _real_ feelings are involved between the both of them. But this should be impossible. They’ve only been working together for an approximate week, there should be _no_ personal emotions involved - that gets messy. It’s _always_ messy, therefore she never gets any closer than simply being co-stars.

 

Her hand finds a way into his hair, just for a single second, before it drops back to his jacket, and she can feels his fingers sifting through her hair, and this is all right in the _wrong_ way.

 

They’re both breathing heavily by the time she pulls away from him ( _this is acting, this is acting_ she repeats in her brain), sweaty foreheads pressed against each other (results of constant bantering and rehearsals for hours).

 

“That was…”

 

It takes her a second to adjust, to gather all of her thoughts and remind herself this is _strictly professional_ as she’s stated. “A one-time thing,” she declares, somehow managing to utter the words out from the script off the tip of her tongue. Her hands drop just as quickly from his jacket as she says her line. Just as she turns away, her eyes lock with his and there is _definitely_ more behind them, another story to be told. “Don’t follow me. Wait five minutes - go get some firewood or something.”

 

“As you wish,” he quietly agrees.

 

_It was just a kiss._

 

_It was just a kiss._

 

( _It was_ not _just a kiss._ )

 

Emma inwardly groans before turning around, noticing the awestruck expression stuck on his face. "I - uh - yeah, that was good," she stammers, forcing herself to smile.

 

Business and pleasure do not mix, thus it should always be kept separate from each other. There is a fine line that should _never_ be crossed, yet she already thinks she's a step ahead when it comes to disobeying that law. Whatever rule she's ever established with playing relationships in a play, apparently there is no guarantee of success with those rules for this one. Therefore, in short, she is royally _fucked_.

 

And she can't do much about it but -

 

 _Run_.

 

"Swan?"

 

She should go. Well, she's telling herself she should, but her mind and body aren't exactly coordinating well. "Yeah?" She gulps nervously, trying to mask herself again.

 

"That was one hell of a kiss." He smiles, and it's....it's genuine. "I suppose we should end on that note for today," he suggests.

 

He's giving her an out; she recognizes that, and she's grateful for it. Right now, she's not ready enough to discuss her feelings for him. Emma requires far more time to reflect on what's happened for the past week, between them, and how this kiss has changed their dynamic and how it'll affect the rest of the play's performance. She just knows she cannot screw this up, otherwise she's the one to be pointed at for blame. Whether she's falling for Killian Jones or not, there is still a line they haven't touched yet...but _god_ , they're awfully close.

 

(Or maybe she's over thinking this all. Maybe Killian doesn't even care at all for her on romantic, intimate levels.)

 

( _Lie._ )

 

"Okay." She nods, a jaw-cracking yawn escaping her lips. He just looks at her. "I told you, _three_ hours of sleep!" she exclaims, the pad of her fingers rubbing over her eyes.

 

He chuckles, shoving his script into a binder and into his bag. "Go home and get some of that rest, love. Don't need you to be yawning in the middle of our kiss scene."

 

"Jerk," she grumbles, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. "See you Wednesday."

 

"See you then," he calls back, waving at her curtly.

 

She spends the next 20 minutes of her walk back to her apartment while trying to remember what exactly transpired between them in those solid 10 second kiss (certainly _more_ than 10 seconds).

 

.~.

 

In two days’ time of worrying constantly about how awkward it’s going to be when it comes to the entire production rehearsal, she knows she’s going to screw up. Well, she’s at least convinced herself of that nonsense, constantly killing herself over a _kiss_.

 

The amount of times while she was rehearsing with others was her spacing out for a moment before remembering her lines is outrageous.

 

And the fact that everyone’s going to watch them engage in a passionate kiss (if not passionate before, then even _more_ ) freaks her out because she knows how this is involving more than simply her job as a theater student.

 

Killian seems normal though, no different than ever. A polite smile and wave between devilish smirks and winks.

 

Apparently, it’s _so_ good that they don’t need to kiss a second time.

 

(She’s somewhat disappointed.)

 

(Or not.)

 

(Yes, yes she is because Killian has very kissable lips and he knows how to kiss well, even though she’s got the mind to know that it’s more than _just_ a kiss.)

 

A little annoying, however, when everyone comes up to say how perfect their chemistry is. She knows, and she predicts he does too, but Emma stays silent on the matter and just smiles and nods and thanks people redundantly.

 

.~.

 

On the day they’re performing in front of a large crowd of people, she begins to realize how sporadic her nerves are being. It’s usually never like this, but it’s just the thought of them having to be the best they can, to not forget lines, to make sure to capture the audience’s attention.

 

(And the kiss.)

 

When the lights dim and the curtains drop, it’s time to act.

 

It’s really no different than performing in front of one or two people. Just that there’s a lot more eyes observing and watching and _judging_. But other than that, it’s just like their official rehearsals. Like the lunches out reading scripts over together and offering advice to each other, but now implied here on stage and performed at its finest abilities by professionally trained students who have a heavy interest in acting and other forms of dramatic arts.

 

At this moment, in costume and everything, she notices how everyone plays their character _so_ well, like they have embodied their own roll completely. That is a good actor, one that puts dedication into their work while enjoying it all the same. It’s entertainment, but entertainment they like, too.

 

Every time she comes in eye contact with Killian, it’s like her heart beats just a little bit faster than usual. When she has to _maintain_ the eye contact, it’s even worst.

 

By the time they’re the only two left on the stage for their scene, she’s mentally preparing herself for the kiss. But, Emma already knows what to expect out of him, so it should be no different than usual. And then later, she can go back to despising his huge ego and unfairly attractive looks.

 

Though, as per usual, when it comes to the big scene, she is ill prepared for how much is acting and how much is realism. The line is blurred.

 

When she grabs him by the lapels of his long leather jacket, it feels just like usual, the entire spur-of-a-moment kiss, but god, she wants to keep kissing him even though it's only a brief one for their characters in this play. He smells like the usual of his faint cologne and sweat from the heat in his jacket, but there's something about the smell that makes her want to know more. Like how he smells straight out of a shower, or how their skin would stick after being sated.

 

Wait, she is _not_ supposed to be thinking about that.

 

When the ten second kiss is up, she has to catch her breath as usual, and begins to realize how much she likes him. How much he kisses her with fervor but a sense of gentleness within. How even from his egotistical ass, he is a gentleman who believes in good form and honour. When she starts to think about it, he is just a man with many layers beneath and above. Some uncovered, and some hardly seen - a rare occurrence.

 

Her brain is somewhat multi-tasking, as she's still playing her role, but she ultimately feels devastated every time she catches the swiftest glance at his broken, confused face. It's always a mix of how he truly feels, and his character.

 

It leaves her with mixed feelings about to do about this... _thing_ between them.      

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               

The applause is somewhat satisfying at the end, but it's mainly because her mind is otherwise occupied on Killian Jones.

 

They bow and that’s it, that’s the show, before they rush off the stage and begin to change out of their costumes.

 

“Are we ever going to discuss the feelings between us?”

 

The question catches her off guard as she turns, removing the hanging cutlass from her back, throwing it aside onto a desk, pulling her own attention back up to Killian’s face. “It’s the inevitable, isn’t it?”

 

“Well, I don’t think it’s every day I decide I’m falling...uhm, becoming infatuated with another co-star.” His hair looks like a mess, all darky and unruly, and that must be like his bedhead. “But, trust me on this, Swan, I think my feelings go past simple infatuation. What we become is entirely up to you as it is to me. So...what do you want, love?”

 

“I don’t know?” She clenches her eyes shut and shrugs (he nearly said falling in _love_ ). “That’s the thing, I really just _don’t know_. If I did, I’d probably have said something by now.”

 

Killian sighs. “That’s alright, Swan, you’ll figure it out.”

 

“You really think so?”

 

“I’ve yet to see you fail.” He grins and steps forward, his lips dropping to her forehead, lingering even after he kisses her there. “I’ll be patient,” he promises in a quiet whispers, before he’s backing up with the heavy leather jacket in tow in his arm, a gentle smile on his face.

 

After that, Emma thinks ( _knows_ ) she knows what she wants.

 

It’s just him.

 

(Without the entire wanting to kill him part, of course.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yep, I still got 1k followers celebration tumblr fics to write and post.


	79. i've lost a lot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 33\. both of our shifts end at four in the morning, after this do you wanna grab breakfast doctors au

Being an ER surgeon is sporadic at most, but the part about being an ER surgeon means not getting attached to the patients, not when all she has to do is do the best she can to ensure a recovery, and then move on with another doctor being assigned to whoever gets rolled in. It's an easier path for her not having to feel the hurt later on, a process she's always been following since the start of her career, despite the rough patches from before. If a patient doesn't make it the moment she has to do her job or while she's in the middle of it, she usually just has to deal with the faces of any family members or friends.

 

The pain in _that_ is enough.

 

It's far better than getting to know a possibly unstable patient overtime and then losing them. Then breaking the news. That's too much for her. Quick and simple and clean, getting the job done, doing her best to make sure she doesn't have to break someone's heart or lose a life - that's all Emma Swan sticks too.

 

Some nights, between breaks and low hospital activity, she wonders _why_ she chose to be engrossed in such a doctoral job like hers in the first place.

 

(Her answer, constantly, is because saving a life, means sparing anyone else any further pain.)

 

Some nights, she feels like she's seen too much in her life for being twenty-nine. Some nights...she feels like there's been too many times she's seen life and death, too many times someone's been on the edge, too many times she's _almost_ failed or _has_ failed.

 

And if she does fail? Well, there's not really anyone she can go to for comfort. (Again with the entire family and _pain_ thing.)

 

Well, that's only until a new doctor arrives in town, replacing one of the retired ones. The one that ends up on the same schedule as her on most days. His name is _Killian Jones_ , transferred over from London, England.

 

Her schedule is completely _twisted_ now that he's around with his handsome, rugged looks, his blue eyes and dark, messy hair as if he's run his hand through it an uncountable amount of times throughout his work period. Most of her patients in the ER are handed over to him in the end, and he always takes them with a smile, no matter how grim the situation seems or how unlikely a patient may survive in the end.

 

Killian is a different man, someone she's inexperienced in working with. Of course though, it's a good type of a different. In a frustrating day where all she wants to do is punch a wall, a hand on her shoulder and a fleeting smile from her fellow co-worker is just enough to get her to keep going through the early hours of the morning, or the late hours of the night. His usual _good work, Swan, you've done a splendid job_ is a compliment she begins to get used to, and soon enough, he's become more of a friend in the workplace (in the workplace since she doesn't really spend any other time with him besides during work).

 

Things particularly start to get better with his presence being in this building or even near her, and she's never felt a little lighter.

 

But, of course, the moment things start going her way, the moment she no longer has to worry about tense shoulders and busy minds, is the moment she and her team fails on a man who'd been struck by a speeding car on wet roads from earlier rain. A man who is probably a _father_ , a _husband_ , and...now dead, perished from this world. There'd been too much internal bleeding and blunt force to his head, there's no way she could stop it all, no matter how much speed and effort she put into trying to save this innocent man's life.

 

Killian is there waiting for her outside.

 

All he'll get is disappointment the moment she steps out. And all she'll get is the painful reminder of her failure and the painful ache in her own chest at the looks of a grieving family.

 

Pulling the gloves off, she sighs. "Cover him up, you guys know the rest," Emma mumbles to her surrounding team, then moving out of the room to pull off her mask.

 

And just as she closes the door behind her, there's the familiar face in the back of the crowd of a family. But, she sees a boy, definitely no older than 10, and a woman, the wife or girlfriend or just someone _important_. There is no other way of saying it, but something gets to her with seeing this child. Of depriving him of a father and depriving the lady of a husband or significant other.

 

"I'm sorry," she says, shaking her head. "We tried our hardest, but it was too late." She slowly watches the woman in front of her break to pieces and the look on the child's face fall and break to tears. If Killian wasn't standing there, Emma would be breaking herself. The son reminds her too much of a boy she'd given away in adoption ages ago who should be about his age now. "I'm so sorry," she repeats again, the words falling from her mouth, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue and the memory of their devastated faces in her brain.

 

"Our sincerest condolences for your loss," Killian eventually buds in, immediately next to Emma, a hand on her back as if he's supporting her. "We'll make sure you can see him soon, and any further arrangements or questions you have remaining, you may approach the front desk. They will help you from there on out."

 

Emma has to bite her tongue and avert her eyes from the now broken family just for a second before Killian is pushing her and turning her around, his hand never leaving her back.

 

"Our shifts are just about to end, love. Shall we grab some breakfast at Granny's?"

 

The first initial reaction is just to reject, wanting to return back to her bland, empty apartment and hole up on her bed, or perhaps in front of the couch with a cup of cocoa and watch Netflix. Or even just stand under the shower head with the steam rising up while the knots in her bones relax, while also in a possible deep thought about her surgical failure.

 

Either way, the word that comes out of her mouth is still "Sure."

 

.~.

 

The aftermath is finally catching up to her now as she drives a couple blocks down from the hospital to Granny's, a local diner in Boston that serves some great food for a cheap price. It feels _homey_ , too, but really, she can't judge much when she's never had a home in her life. A place to rest her head under, to get through a day, but never the feeling of a _home_.

 

Killian is already there at a booth, his fingers wrapped around a mug of what seems like coffee. He catches her eye before she sits down in front of him, and she tries to put up a smile, but she just _can't_. Emma wants to blame simple exhaustion and the usual tiredness, but she knows it's the case from earlier, the man she couldn't save, the man which had probably been kind and loving and is now a lost figure in the entire family's life. Today, one of Killian's smiles can't even bring a small curl up on her lips, so that means this affects her _bad_.

 

"Already ordered you some of your hot cocoa concoction - with cinnamon."

 

Emma heaves a sigh and nods, shedding her leather jacket off and setting it in the empty space beside her. "Thanks," she mumbles, resting her elbows on the table and pressing her fingers against her closed eyes.

 

"I don't mean to be so direct, Swan, but you seem rather distracted than usual," he says, stating a mere observation which she certainly cannot deny. "Did you know that family - the last one?"

 

"No." She shakes her head and rubs her eyes before dropping her hands and thanking the waitress for her drink. "I didn't."

 

Silence takes a pass between them, both of them taking sips from their drinks before he waves over the waitress again and orders something like grilled cheese, and she just asks for the same, before they're back to the quiet break between them. The diner is relatively empty, considering it's a little past four in the morning, but a few patrons are here and there with a cup of coffee and plate of eggs and bacon in front of them.

 

This is odd though. Usually silence as thick as this bothers her, but she can't seem to have this sort with any other than Killian himself, and it works just like soothing lotion on skin. It's somewhat calm in a way, to be able to feel so comfortable just between two people. To be able to trust and believe in the other like nothing else in the world. He is nothing but a friend of course, a man she works alongside during the same shift and work hours, but it's never been beyond that and Emma usually doesn't want to think beyond that. But today, she can't help but notice how his soulful, blue eyes linger on her for seconds that bleed into minutes; she can't help but notice how he's taken the initiative to order her favourite drink (to even _remember_ that information) before she arrives.

 

Emma did not come here to talk about what happened earlier, but it's the topic for the day, and he seems more concerned about how she's feeling after all that, than discussing something else that's otherwise pointless.

 

"Forgive me for being blunt, then." He coughs a little, and props one arm up, hand stroking his chin, while the other arm is resting flat against the table, behind his drink. "The loss of a patient never usually affects you like this."

 

She has to laugh a little, something between bitter and sad, a mix of in-between. "I know that." And yeah, she does. "I just...feel too guilty, right now."

 

"And why's that?"

 

"People find it easier to blame others, don't they?" He nods, and she purses her lips and shrugs. "I'm not that person. I'm the opposite. I blame myself." It's just the cold, hard truth. When alone, with no one else there, the only reason that comes to her mind is always _herself_ , why she's never good enough, why she's just never enough as a human to _anyone_. "I've always blamed myself."

 

The food comes just then, plates set in front of them and they both thank her before she's gone, and Emma stares at the grilled cheese in front of her for a bit before she finally picks it up and takes a bite out of it. At least that fills up her empty stomach, along with the sweet drink.

 

Between them, she feels this easiness for her to confess how she’s feeling, to admit her rather private thoughts. She’s only known him for a relatively short period of time, but somehow he means _more_.

 

He's the one to laugh this time, shaking his head and picking his mug up. "That's rather a shame," he says into his drink, before taking a sip and setting it down. At this point, she's confused, but he must see her confusion and continues speaking. "You're a bloody brilliant surgeon, a brilliant doctor. Some things are the inevitable, but you've never been hit so hard before. Tell me, love, was it failing the surgery or facing the family that has you all crumbling inside?"

 

"Both." She chews on her grilled cheese before grabbing a napkin to wipe her mouth of spare crumbs. "If I saved him, I wouldn't have had to face the family with bad news."

 

He shrugs, mumbling a _fair point_ under his breath, but Killian is unconvinced still, or at least persistent to get more information of her, apparently. "No, no, there's more to it than that."

 

"You're right, there is."

 

Killian straightens his posture. "It was the boy, wasn't it?" he asks, his voice softer than before, a lot more quieter as if they're sharing secrets of a private matter.

 

Well, she has to admit he's perceptive. Or really good at reading her. Whatever it is, he's good at it, and it sort of worries her that he can see straight past the walls she's spent building for years (unless she's just real shit as hiding her thoughts). "Something like that," she murmurs, nodding with the attempt of a smile, to only come out as sad. She thinks of the boy she'd given birth to at a young age of seventeen - thinks of barely seeing him before giving him off for adoption because she wasn't fit to be a mother.

 

"You've lost someone."

 

"I've lost a lot."

 

Doesn't take two brains or much of an IQ to figure out what that means.

 

The silence returns, becoming the atmosphere around them while they eat their breakfast without speaking any further on the matter. It almost feels like he's going on some analysis stage on her life, like he's trying to pick apart all of her pieces and try to understand each bit before putting it back together. Emma feels at ease, but also feels the tick of vulnerability nagging inside of her, telling her that he's trying to either break or climb each of her walls until he gets to see the inside. But to be honest, she's already shown him quite a bit of her insides, given that she's hinted toward her past and just about everything that hits her too close to 'home.'

 

Four o'clock passes by swiftly, and a yawn finally hits her after she's finally finished eating her food. She sits bleary-eyed in front of Killian, her thoughts now a big jumble of mess and her body just wanting to hit the comfort of the one thing she values back at her apartment, her queen-sized bed. (Something tells her she may not even be able to sleep.)  

 

There is something in her today, something out of the usual. Perhaps it's because her entire morning and previous night has been all of conflicting thoughts and emotions, that from rest, all she'll think about is not wanting to wake up halfway through the afternoon to find that she'll have to do the entire _rinse and repeat_ cycle. Her shifts are always usually 7PM to 4AM, but sometimes things change and alter. Sometimes they are shorter or they are longer, or sometimes she gets at least a day off if they're able to have someone replace her. But her time in bed is usually her chastising herself to get the rest and be prepared for either success or tragedy.

 

"I believe it's safe to say it's time for the both of us to get going and get some sleep for our shifts later," she finally says, waving over the waitress for the bill.

 

"Aye, we should." He pulls out his wallet from his back pocket, slapping down a ten dollar bill.

 

Emma does the same. Neither of them care about change by this point.

 

As she leaves the diner and heads to find her car and he goes the opposite way (he kisses her forehead and wishes her a good sleep and that he'll see her later, but she also doesn’t miss his _you’d be a bloody fantastic mum_ either), she knows they've shifted something between them, something for them to grow a little more closer and to understand a little more about each other's reasonings for reactions and responses.

 

And for once in her life, she doesn't care because she has someone there to get her through her tough days, and someone there to make her good days even better.

 


	80. full package

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3\. Your cat keeps getting into my house and I don’t even know how would you care to explain but hey you’re hella hot AU

It’s frustrating, realizing that every time she gets home from an exhausting day at chasing bail jumpers, she’s greeted with a damn _cat_ asleep on her couch or in her bed, and she really does wonder how the hell that cat does it. Her window is never open, and her door is always locked, so the way this cat is getting into her house is really confused her.

 

 _Henry_ doesn’t even know how the cat’s getting inside, so that obviously means something.

 

Honestly, Emma knows who owns the cat. It’s her frustratingly hot, kind and cocky neighbour, Killian Jones, and she can’t do a single thing about it.

 

Every damn entrance is locked and closed, but it’s like that fucking cat is a professional _ninja_. Or robber.

 

His cat needs to stop breaking and entering her home. (Surely that’s _somehow_ illegal, right?)

 

“Stupid cat,” she grumbles, throwing her keys on the table by the front door and kicking her heels off. She can _hear_ the cat meowing somewhere, and probably in the kitchen.

 

Where the food is.

 

God _damn it_.

 

The cat is scratching at the cupboards, at least before she flicks the lights on. If only Henry wasn’t at this sleepover, otherwise he’d been home to return the cat. Though surprisingly, Killian’s cat is just a stubborn at that man can be, he really wonders if he’s rubbed off on the feline, considering how resilient he is.

 

Also, does that man have _no_ sense of keeping his own pet in order? Like, does he not go _searching_ for it?

 

The damn cat scratches at her and she’s got a red mark on her wrist now, but she quickly slips on a pair of random sneakers she owns and walks down the sidewalk over to his house next door. Emma’s just realized she didn’t even change out of the red dress she’s in, and she already knows the man is going to oggle her. Every man she’s passed by has probably oggled her in some form by now, she’s not going to be surprised when Killian does.

 

She sees the lights on through the curtains covering up his windows, and soon a shadow when she’s knocked on the door with nothing but a straight face of a woman who is unimpressed and completely wishing she could surrender to her fatigue by now.

 

“Oh, Swan! What a lovely surprise.” He grins like that dick of a guy he is, and he’s only in some stupid white t-shirt and sweats that are hanging down low. “I see you’ve found Smee.”

 

“Oh yeah, I definitely found _Smee_ ,” she mutters, handing over his stupid cat.

 

“You know, love, you should walk up to my front door more often in this dress of yours.” He chuckles when his eyes hit her feet, and she knows the shoes don’t match. She just wanted to give his damn cat back. Again. “You look rather fetching. Smee agrees now, don’t you Smee?” Killian pets at the fluffy, orange-coloured animal in his arms, completely calm and domestic unlike when he’s with her. Of course Smee meows then, too. “See?”

 

“Yeah, whatever. Night, Killian,” Emma says, turning around and heading down the small porch. She’s not going to deal with him tonight, not with the way his eyes are examining her like she’s precious treasure he’d never trade in the world. “And keep your damn cat out of my house!”

 

“Sorry, darling, no promises! Smee is a free cat!”

 

 _Fucking damn it_. Why does the hot neighbour have to have the annoying pet of a cat? It’s unfair. Life is too damn unfair.

 

.~.

 

It turns out that Smee loves Henry more than her. Why is she the only one he despises? What has Emma ever done to the damn cat that elicits such hate in return? Sure, she's only ever grumbled words like _stupid cat_ and _why is this happening to me?_ but it doesn't mean he needs to hate her. If Smee just... _warmed_ up to her, there'd be no more hard feelings.

 

She's shoving her last pancake down her throat when Henry leaves the house to catch the school bus. (Damn, her kid is growing up fast, now.) Finishing her coffee, she grabs her keys and slips her boots on, rushing out the house because she's late on her usual schedule. With finally locking up the house, she's able to climb into her car and get the hell to work.

 

But to get back, she's faced with a cat, _Smee_ , lounging on the couch. Ignoring him, she heads upstairs to check up on Henry, who's finishing up some homework. "Did you know Smee got in? _Again_?"

 

"Maybe that cat just wants to make your life a living hell."

 

That's one way to put it. "Language, kid, but he sure is doing a good job at it."

 

"You should befriend Smee. I mean, he's not actually that bad of a cat once he gets to like you. Really affectionate and quiet."

 

"Are you siding with our neighbour's cat instead of your own mother?"

 

Henry's horrible at trying to hide a smile. "Maybe."

 

"It's like the apocalypse," she mumbles. "Everyone is turning against me!'

 

"Don't take offense to that, Mom." Henry shuts his notebook and the textbook on his desk. "I'm done my homework, can I go over to Killian's? He said he's gonna beat me in Mario Kart, and I want to prove him wrong."

 

Besides Killian's cat, she doesn't really hold a grudge against the man himself. Emma rolls her eyes and sighs. "Alright, go ahead. But I'll come get you for dinner."

 

"Awesome, thanks!" He hugs her and she ruffles his hair (which he usually groans at now, given he's already 12), scampering off down the stairs, and soon enough she can hear the door slamming shut.

 

With a glance out the window, she sees Henry running up to the front door, and the rest of the view is blocked because she can't see any further with that from this point of view, but she knows she doesn't really need to worry about her son as much as she used to. He's already growing up fast, and besides, Killian is still trustworthy and child-friendly.

 

.~.

 

This time around, she wakes up to a cat.

 

Just as she yanks open the front door to go and return his cat, Killian's already standing there looking like a mess (it is a Saturday morning), a little dumbstruck and wide-eyed. Then she notices she's only in her black yoga pants and a loose white shirt. Not exactly the best choice of clothing to be wearing when answering the door, let alone going outside.

 

"Well, it appears he did come here." Killian scratches behind his ear absentmindedly, before taking the pet from her arms, their hands brushing. "Apologies if he woke you this time around. It is a Saturday, so I'm assuming it wasn't very pleasant of a surprise."

 

"Tell your cat to stop sneaking into my house, then."

 

"I'm afraid it's never worked." He grins, lopsided, but he looks damn adorable in his clothes and with his messy hair. "Trust me, Swan, I've tried. Multiple times. It just appears he enjoys your company."

 

She laughs in denial. "Smee hates me. I think he just prefers my house for some reason."

 

"Or your lad."

 

"I beg to differ."

 

He's humming, petting Smee's head while cocking his head to the side a little. "Stubborn woman," he eventually says, shaking his head. "Well, I better not keep you from your weekend morning routines, so I bid you a good day." Then he points at the cat. "So does Smee, as per usual." Smee fucking _meows_ at her again before he's chuckling and stepping down her porch. "Oh, and love?"

 

"What?" she annoyingly responds.

 

"Tell your lad he's got to step up his Mario Kart game."

 

Emma groans. "Piss off, Jones!"

 

"Mom, _language_!"

 

The two boys in her life are laughing at her, and she swears if Smee could laugh, he would, too.

 

"Aye, Swan, watch your language around the boy!" He throws a smug smirk over his face before he's on the sidewalk and heading back to his house while Smee sits perfectly fine in his arms.

 

If he wasn't so attractive, she'd probably have thrown his damn cat into a cell with him, but this is just another daily crisis she's going to have to put up with. It's not worth moving out. "Henry, I swear," she begins, shutting the door and turning around to him, "you are all teaming up on me to see how long you can test my sanity."

 

"What? _No_." Henry smiles innocently and disappears back toward his bedroom upstairs.

 

.~.

 

Emma nearly freaks out when Henry's not home, but when she heads over to Killian's place to ask if he's seen him around, he's sitting there with the cat on his lap and Henry's petting him and Smee is very much meowing _affectionately_ at her son. But the moment she sees this on the porch, she can't help but wonder if she could have this life with him. _Sure_ , she's always thought his cat's annoying, as is he (annoyingly _attractive_ ), but he's been nothing but a good neighbour since the beginning, the only downside being the cat that dislikes her and practically scowls at the sight of her.

 

"Hey, Mom!" Henry greets loudly, a smile on his face.

 

Killian's head snaps up and he stands, heading down the porch to her spot on the little stone pathway she's been standing on, observing. "Ah, Swan, how wonderful to grace us with your presence. Your lad forgot his keys and luckily I was home from work today, so I offered him to stay with me until your return." Killian smiles, _genuinely_ , something that is a sight to behold. "It also, erm, appears Smee quite likes Henry's company." He waves a hand over at Henry, quite obviously given the scene.

 

"Yes, Smee, the cat who's scratched me and the cupboards and broke into my house several times." She can't help but sigh, not even of anger or frustration, but just a quiet, hopeless sigh because there's nothing she can do about this, or her feelings for Killian. "I guess I'll just have to deal with it. So he doesn't like me? It's not the end of the world."

 

Killian lips curl up. "I certainly like you - would that be the end of the world?"

 

Taken aback, she's not sure how to respond to a _yes_ or _no_ question. His eyes are soft and less playful than usual, and besides that, his voice has gone quiet, and they're standing too close for comfort considering there's a 12 year old boy who is _her_ son sitting near them. "I don't think so," she utters, her tongue darting out of her mouth to lick her lips. "I don't think it's too bad at all, actually."

 

His attractive neighbour's smile widens and he brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's a Sunday evening, perhaps we should order some pizza and let them bond."

 

"Let me guess...while we _bond_?"

 

He shrugs. "It's not the end of the world, isn't it, love?'

 

"You're right, it isn't."

 

.~.

 

With a gleam of light filtering in through the window when she opens her eyes, she groans and digs her head under the pillow. Just then, the alarm goes off too, and that means she _needs_ to get out of bed and wake up Henry and pack his lunch and shower _and_ get to work.

 

The last thing she remembers is offering Killian some hot chocolate last night on the couch, and besides that, she doesn't remember how she got to bed or when she fell asleep. Huffing a large sigh, she manages to drag her own self out of bed. Henry isn't even in his room, but his bed is already made and his bag isn't usually where it is. Confused, the moment she begins to step downstairs she hears the chatter and the _meowing_ , but also the smell of eggs and then _knows_ he must've not left last night if she's hearing the familiar lilt of his voice talking to her son.

 

And of course Smee is circling around Killian's legs in the kitchen while he's cooking up breakfast.

 

"Wow, now _this_ is a surprise." She glances between them both. "Did I fall asleep on you last night?"

 

"Half into slumber by the time I carried you to your bedroom, love." He turns and shoots her a wink before he gets back to the eggs. "And since you were rather intent on paying for the pizza, I thought I'd pay you back by breakfast."

 

"Yeah, well, sorry for falling asleep and thanks for the rest."

 

He shrugs. "Not a problem, Swan."

 

Emma goes to back upstairs to get properly dressed and to make herself more presentable before returning for the breakfast. She pours herself a mug of coffee and sits down on one of the seats, and just like that, Smee jumps onto her lap and starts to pur. Wait, he's _purring_ not threatening her like the usual.

 

Henry is occupied with getting dressed now since he's got the head start, and it leaves just herself and Killian. And Smee, if that counts as anything.

 

Killian leans over and presses a kiss to her cheek, and she smiles at the warm gesture. She could get use to this. Maybe not the fact that Smee is suddenly not very _rude_ anymore when it comes to her, but hey, she and her hot neighbour sort of have a thing now (whatever it is), and she's totally fine with it. If it means getting to wake up with a breakfast waiting for her, she's totally for it.

 

(Why does Killian have to be a good cook, too? What can he not do?)

 

"Did you sleep on the couch?"

 

He laughs, poking at the eggs on his plate. "You must not remember begging me to stay with you in bed."

 

She nearly chokes on the food, embarrassingly confused. "I did what?" she sputters, feeling the blush rise to her cheeks and the heat hit the tip of her ears.

 

"Asked me to _stay_ with you. Of course, who was I to deny the lady?" He grins and nudges her side playfully. "Besides, I know how dashing I am. Irresistible, too."

 

"Are you trying to use your own good looks as a form of justification?" she asks. Emma isn't surprised though, he's always been like this for the months she's known him (mainly from Smee entering her house all the time, somehow). "Do you need someone to stroke your ego?"

 

"Aye, I am and _no_ , Swan, _that_ doesn't need to be _stroked_." He sticks the fork of eggs into his mouth and chews with a cheeky smile, knowing exactly what he's insinuated. "Also, I don't want to have Henry get an earful today, but he's been letting Smee in most of the time. Apparently was a plan of his to get us together since our... _tension_ , was off the roof."

 

Well that makes sense. Henry's always home earlier than she is, and since he has the keys to the house for himself after school, he can just... _let_ the damn cat inside. Or even in the mornings when she's not even awake. Either way, that kid is going to get a long lecture later about being a _matchmaker_. He's only _12_ , what twelve year old tries to get his neighbour to date his mom? Well, apparently this one does, and she can't do much about it when she thinks about the many benefits she gets out of this. Emma Swan likes Killian Jones (and maybe Smee), so she can't exactly punish Henry for what he's done.

 

"Maybe I'll talk to him later," she mumbles in the end, shrugging it off for now. "His plan has been mostly successful anyways."

 

He pouts. "Only _mostly_?"

 

She shrugs nonchalantly, taking a sip from her coffee. "Smee's apart of your package. He may be warming up to me now that we're a _thing_ , but it doesn't mean I like him yet."

 

"You will one day."

 

"One day," she muses, "maybe. Meanwhile, I think you'll do just _fine_ yourself."

 

He groans and drops his fork before standing up and pressing his lips to hers, and she smiles against the kiss, even when he's sweeping his tongue across her bottom lip and biting down on it. The only thing that stops them for advancing further is the sound of Henry's steps from the stairs and his complaint of " _okay, I know you two are together now, but_ please _don't make me watch you guys make out, that's disgusting!_ " Apparently embarrassing her child is easy enough now, just by the excessive public displays of affection.

 

This will be her revenge.

 

And by the way Killian's eyebrow raises and his lips are pressed into a tight grin as if he's saving his laughter, he knows exactly what she's thinking.

 

Then, of course, Smee begs for some attention, and Killian picks the cat up and bids Henry a good day as he leaves for school, and Emma's finishing up her coffee before he steps forward and presses his lips to hers again (this time chastely) with the cat in his arms, the fur tickling her chin. "Sorry, love, Smee loves his attention." And then he kisses her nose briefly before backing away. "You'll have to share us."

 

Emma rolls her eyes and dumps her cup in the sink, rinsing it out before setting it out to dry. "Sharing's overrated," she grumbles to herself, wiping off the counter and placing the remaining dirty dishes in the sink. "Oh crap, I didn't pack a lunch for Henry!"

 

After running his hand through Smee's soft fur a few more times, the cat jumps out of his grasp and he chuckles at that before turning to her. "Calm down, darling, I did it myself."

 

There's no surprise there - of course he did.

 


	81. rear-ended

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 04\. i'm having a shit day and you just crashed into my car and i was gonna give you hell, but wow you're really hot au

Beyond coming up empty on the next case she's taken, being insulted in public because of some _asshole_ , and getting rained on while leaving work for the day, she's just been having the worst possible day of her life. Everything has been going horribly since the moment she woke up, got out of bed and left the apartment, so yes, she's just having an utterly disastrous day. A day which she's wishing is over if traffic could just _move_.

 

And as if her wish is coming true, with the windshield wipers cleaning off the rain splattering against the window, and the thunder booming in the distance, traffic finally loosens up. But, no, things still aren't going well, not when she's about to take a right turn but some asshole behind her runs into the back of her yellow bug. Emma's head hits the steering wheel (airbag doesn't open since it's not that bad of a hit), her entire body jolting forward at the impact, and suddenly there's a lot of yelling and shouting from behind her, but she's a little dizzy from the hit, and traffic has stopped, once _again_ and she really just wants to go home.

 

Suddenly, there's frantic knocking at her window, and just the quick turn of her head to look out makes everything a blur, so she just opts to hitting the button on the side of her seat and unlocks the door, pushing it open. "Jesus christ," she grumbles, rubbing her temples as the rain begins to wet the inside of her car.

 

"Sorry, lass, the git behind rammed into me and caused me to ram into -" he suddenly stops just as she leans her head back and squeezes her eyes shut. "Woah, are you alright?"

 

"No," she grits out. "I think I may have a concussion or something. Damn head spins every time I move it around."

 

"Bloody hell." He almost sounds annoyed. "The police and ambulance are already on their way. Hang tight."

 

She doesn't get a good look at him, not while she's got a likely concussion pounding its way through her head, making every bit of head movement painful. Honestly, she wants to give this guy a lot of shit for crashing into her, but he did say the guy behind him hit him _then_ hit her. God, she'll just figure out the details later and handle it afterwards, because right now, she's just going to let half of her body get soaked with rain and wait for the ambulance so she can get to a hospital and sort her injury out.

 

Emma's never had a concussion before. Sure she's had broken ribs, been shot once or twice, fallen and twisted something, but never has she _ever_ conceived a concussion. Now, she hopes she'll never get one again, not when it's this bad. She almost feels like a slug, or just that her head is throbbing and feels like she could pass out any minute now.

 

"Hey, hey," the same voice chides, patting her shoulder a few times. "Medics are here, love, you'll be fine."

 

Prying her eyes open, everything is a complete mess with her sight. "Fuck, everything is blurry," she complains, rubbing her eyes. The rubbing doesn't help much at all. Then there's two people getting her out of her car, and the rain is completely drenching her by this point.

 

"Symptoms of a concussion," one says.

 

...And it's official. Worst day of her life.

 

.~.

 

Why she's in the hospital, she does not exactly remember. It's just bright, and there's an excessive amount of beeping from beside her, and she feels a little loopy. Not entirely, considering she can control herself perfectly fine and surely execute tasks with the usual behaviour, but everything feels a bit lighter.

 

There is a man sitting in a seat next to her, a scar across his face (definitely a thing from before), and a bit of white gauze stuck on his cheek, but other than that, he seems fine. And alive. But what he's doing here in her room is out of the question. Emma doesn't recognize who he is, but just by the looks of it, he's attractive.

 

So question, _why_ is an attractive man sitting next to her?

 

He shifts and yawns, and then he's awake and she rolls her head languidly back to face the ceiling.

 

"Finally awake now?"

 

"Who are you and why am I here?"

 

He furrows his eyebrows and straightens in his seat. "Killian Jones," he answers. "And you're here because there was a little car accident, which we were both apart of - but there's another man involved that caused it." One hand moves to scratch behind his ear before he sighs. "You got a concussion, love. Quite a heavy one, too, but the doctor said you'll recover fine so long as you followed his given orders when you woke. Which reminds me, I should go get him."

 

While blue eyes, accented man is gone (Killian Jones, she reminds herself), she begins to remember bits and pieces of the accident. She also remembers the thought of wanting to give the guy a hell of a day for crashing into her considering her day couldn't have gotten any worse than it already was, but now that she's in a blasted hospital gown with a concussion to recover from, she's sure her day really did get worse. And now that she's actually seen how he looks likes without the entire blurry images thing, he really is attractive. Scruff, messy dark hair from the rain, probably, and blue eyes. Has she been graced with a kind, good looking guy to be her saviour or something?

 

Just as her thoughts couldn't have been went down that path any further, the door swings open and both the doctor and Killian is back. There are some preliminary vital checking things Doctor _Whale_ has to do, which she has to endure, and Killian is standing there a little awkwardly, eyeing the both of them as he's just as confused as she is.

 

"Everything seems stable," Whale says, standing up straight. "But, given that it's a concussion, you'll have to take care of yourself well. Which means no excessive, or heavy physical activity. Definitely no alcohol. And in this case, no driving."

 

She's not going to fuel any anger today, no, she's just going to stay calm and get through the stupid recovery stage. "So, I'll have to come back for another checkup before doing any of what you've listed then?"

 

"That's right. How about a week from now?"

 

"Uh, yeah, sure."

 

"Also, you should have someone take care of you for the first twelve to twenty-four hours to make sure everything is alright and there's no sudden changes." Whale makes eye contact with Killian. "Perhaps he can do it? There was no emergency contact on your files, Miss Swan, so..." Doctor Whale shrugs.

 

"We don't really _know_ each other," she tells the doctor. "But I guess it wouldn't hurt. Only if he's up for it."

 

Killian nods, smiling a little. "Aye, it should be no hassle."

 

"Alright, then it's settled." Whale shuffles some papers on his clipboard. "If she sleeps, make sure you wake her every two to three hours to see if she's still well. Ask her a question or two, observe for any different behaviour. But, she should be fine. If anything does come up, just bring her back here and we'll do some scans. Miss Swan, make sure to notify your place of employment of your injury and sort out workloads, frequent breaks, or a few extra days off. Let me just get the discharge papers and some prescriptions and you'll be safe to go."

 

Whale disappears out the door and then Killian walks up a little closer. She sighs and looks over at him. "You _sure_ you want to do this?"

 

He chuckles. "I'm sure you'll be pleasant company, Swan."

 

Maybe she can make his day a little frustrating, just to play with him. After all, she is the one with a concussion.

 

.~.

 

So, the entire plan of screwing with him his gets thrown out the window when she gets back to her apartment. It's only a one bedroom, one bathroom apartment, so it means he's going to have to sleep on the couch and shower and brush his teeth in the shared washroom. It's technically not _too_ bad, but considering the favour he's doing for her to ensure she recovers safely, she may as well be nice to him. Besides, she could befriend him. Befriending him isn't that bad of an idea, either.

 

He has a dufflebag of some of his belongings which he'd picked up on the way of driving to her place, so luckily she won't have to share clothes and belongings. Now that would be a mess.

 

"You should liven up the place, Swan," he suggests, dropping his bag beside the couch.

 

"Not my sort of thing," Emma responds, closing the door behind him. "Nothing to put up."

 

He turns to face her, raising an eyebrow. "Not sentimental, I assume?"

 

"Nothing to keep sentiments of in the first place, Killian." Foster families, usual cop job, there's nothing in the world she could keep that'd be sentimental. Or mean anything valuable. The only possible thing is perhaps the baby blanket she'd been found in, her name etched into it delicately. "Now, do you want a drink or anything? You're free to wander if you want, there's nothing I have to hide."

 

"I think I'm fine." He lifts a brow. "Nothing of physical value to hide of course." He throws a knowing smile at her. "Secrets, however, are things you can hide within yourself."

 

"Are you really going to lecture me philosophically about that stuff?"

 

"Not unless you want me to."

 

"Good, then _don't_ ," she retorts, taking a sharp turn to her left and into the kitchen.

 

Emma has plenty of secrets. He's just surprised he hasn't asked her about why no one had come to the hospital to visit her, or why no one is listed as an emergency contact. Those are all secrets she's never really told anyone about, considering she lives a pretty normal, lowkey, guarded life. She used to be on the _wrong_ side of the law, but now she works for it. Isn't that a plot twist? Sure is, but Killian doesn't know that. He doesn't know a lot of things, and unless she's going to become best friends with him to the point where she's able to trust him with all her deepest, darkest secrets, the most he'll know is that she's always been an orphan and now works for the NYPD.

 

That's it.

 

"So prickly." He chuckles and sheds his leather jacket, setting it on the armrest of the couch.

 

She grumbles under her breath into her cup, now knowing that this man knows how to get on her nerves, despite the entire _I'll be nice and help you out_ demeanor. "I wonder why."

 

His laughter echoes down the hall where he heads toward the washroom, surely at least locating that without any trouble. The format of her apartment isn't hard to get, considering it's small size. Kitchen, living room, and then a hallway that leads to her bedroom and the washroom. It's really as simple as that, and quite convenient when everything is so close and doesn't require having to venture up or down a flight of stairs and whatnot.

 

.~.

 

They make small talk for hours on the couch while they yell at each other (sort of yelling, if you qualify loudly talking as a form of yelling) about which Marvel movie to watch, before she begins to doze off.

 

It's odd, but she hasn't had so much fun or spent a day with anyone like this, _ever_ , but it's kind of nice to have someone to hang out with.

 

Killian Jones has very much become a friend of hers within the last four hours. It's getting late though, so she should be getting the rest so she'll make a recovery soon enough. Emma doesn't like sitting around all day and doing nothing unless something's keeping her occupied, like someone's presence or by investigations and doing research on her cases. Doctor Whale has told her otherwise on putting up with too much work, and her boss, David (who's a good friend), has really toned down all of her work the moment she called in to say she has a concussion from a small car accident. (And he sort of gave her three days off.)

 

She yawns to the point where tears comes out of her eyes, and he laughs, brushing hair away from her face and ushering her to bed while he walks behind her to make sure she doesn't fall asleep on the way to the bed ( _don’t need to bang your head again, Swan_ ). He's so damn cheeky and nerdy and a complete smug bastard all the same, but Emma can't help but appreciate this all-rounded guy who's trying his best to keep her company and keep her occupied, while trying to make sure he doesn't get his ass kicked outside for something stupid.

 

"Goodnight, Swan. I'll come in to check on you, so don't scream bloody murder when I wake you up."

 

"Then coax me into waking up slowly so I'm not some grumpy piece of trash who wants to throw pillows and every other bit of furniture at your face." How she manages to word that and say it surprises herself, but seeing as he just laughs and shuts the light off, she knows he's gotten her message safe and sound. "Goodnight to you, too."

 

He's gone and the light from the hallway is the only thing left peeking in beneath her door and through the tiny crack, but soon that light is out too, and the only source of light is moonlight.

 

In seconds, she finds herself asleep, despite being out for an hour or so after the accident, and then it feels like in moments, she's being woken again. It's as if time literally flies.

 

"What's your name?"

 

"Emma Swan."

 

He smiles, the warm, yellow light from the lamp on her nightstand lighting up half of his face. "Good, you seem just fine, love. You'll be in ship shape in no time."

 

"Are you sleeping well on the couch?" she asks.

 

An eyebrow raises, as usual, and he shrugs. "I've had far worse before, but it's doing me better than the floor."

 

"You can sleep here, you know. I mean - _yeah_ , it's large enough." She knows she's thinking fairly normally, and _normally_ , Emma Swan does not just let the caretaking dude sleep in her bed after crashing into the rear of her car from another person, but she's got a foggy mind still from waking up from her decent slumber. "If you want, of course."

 

"Now I'm wondering if the stubborn Swan is thinking properly," he says quietly, teasing her.

 

She groans, rubbing her eyes and squeezing them shut again. "Sorry for trying to be _nice_."

 

"Hey now, I didn't refuse your offer, did I?" For once, his smile is warm and inviting, flutters in her own damn stomach just at the sight. "Since the lady insists. It should also be easier for me to keep track of you, too."

 

"You make it sound like I'm going to wake up and suddenly go on a massacre. I have a _concussion_ , Killian."

 

"It's still certainly possible," he jokes back, turning the light off. And then there's the weight on the other side of the bed dipping down, slipping beneath the cover. "I promise to keep my hands to myself, if you're concerned about that."

 

In an attempt to not roll around too me, she just shifts a little and pokes his side. "Gentleman," she mumbles.

 

"Aye, always."

 

She can almost hear it like he's grinning.

 

.~.

 

In the morning, she remembers being woken up two more times through the night just because of Killian's insistence. At least she also remembers offering him to sleep in her bed in the vacant space that is _never_ occupied, instead of busting a neck on her couch. Yep, that's a good thing, so when she turns around, she finds his back facing her, his breathing quiet but steady, and she knows he's still asleep.

 

There's obviously something about this that is intimate, but because Emma Swan is one of the most unromantic people out there, it's not surprise that she wonders what it's like to have someone who doesn't run away from her, who doesn't leave, who wants to wake up with her in his arms.

 

But, it's just too much to ask for in her life.

 

(Seeing Killian here gives her some form of hope though, oddly enough.)

 

She's not going to lie that over the span of just a day, she's begun to feel something, and maybe she does like him, but he's being nothing but a good samaritan and all, a good friend. Emma doesn't exactly scream relationship material.

 

At least, not yet.

 

Her head doesn't hurt, thankfully, and she's still a little sleepy all in all, so she closes her eyes and lets her body do the rest.

 

.~.

 

She wakes from the knocking she hears at the door, and wonders who it is.

 

"I'll get it," Killian says, flipping the covers off of himself and rounding the side of the bed toward the door. He disappears out the room and then returns in tow with two people who're here to see her, David and Mary Margaret.

 

 _Of course_ they're here to see her. They're her closest friends.

 

"How's that concussion of yours?" David asks.

 

"Getting better, hopefully," she grumbles, sitting up and leaning her head against the headboard. "You didn't have to come you know. A call would have been enough."

 

"Nonsense, Emma!" Mary Margaret quickly refutes, shaking her head. Then her head moves to look over at Killian who's running a hand through his hair and still in his t-shirt and sweats. "But it appears like you're in good hands."

 

She scoffs, nodding. "Yeah, well, it was the _least_ he could do."

 

David visibly perks up. "Was he -"

 

"Yes? No? Sort of, I guess you could say," she replies, unsure how to describe for a moment. "The guy behind him crashed him which then crashed me. It was a chain, so _don't_ punch him."

 

"Bloody hell, he'd punch me if I hurt you on accident, Swan?"

 

Mary Margaret and Emma both laugh, and David shoots Killian a glare. "He's just a protective guy who'll punch about anyone who hurts any of his friends. You're lucky you didn't purposefully bash the rear end of my car, otherwise you'd be bruised in the face right now," Emma tells Killian, a smile unable to be wiped off her face lingering. "And kicked to the streets. Or thrown into a jail cell."

 

"Ah, he's your Captain isn't he? Alright, duly noted to never hurt Swan." He then rubs his hands together and points toward the door. "I suppose I'll go make some breakfast and leave you lot for a bit...if that's alright with you, love?"

 

Emma smiles. "Oh yeah, go ahead."

 

What she's not prepared for (or expecting) is for the moment the door is sealed shut, Mary Margaret begins to rave on and on about how Killian definitely likes her, while she begins to pull out all the possible reasons. _He's helping you_ just _recover?_ and _he looks at you all nervously when around us, that used to be me or even David_ and _you're smiling because of him!_ to _you should give him a chance, Emma, he looks like a good guy!_ And if Emma is being honest, there's a point to everything she's saying, and even David contributes in that she can't stay alone _forever_.

 

(Well, she can if she wants.)

 

(But something is telling her she doesn't want to and that Killian is her opportunity if he does like her.)

 

.~.

 

Killian accompanies her to the checkup by the next week, and things have gone well since David and Mary Margaret's visit. (Mostly their insistent ushering to _take a leap of faith_.)

 

She'd been unsure for quite some time during the breakfast he made while they ate quietly in front of the TV, until he said he could tell she was uneasy. It wasn't easy for her to tell him that she likes him.

 

Thank god he felt the same. (Save herself the embarrassment, _Jesus_.)

 

So now while she sits, waiting, she's requested for a form to fill out emergency contacts. This time around, through their small little kisses and nights spent actually _cuddling_ (she never pegged herself or even he, as a cuddler) in bed, she knows that from her leap of faith, she didn't feel the pain of the fall.

 

Ultimately, when she gets a pen, she scribbles down _Killian Jones_ as her emergency contact without hesitance, filling in the remaining information without much trouble. And when he weaves his fingers through hers and kisses her cheek, knowing she's perfectly fine and will be able to go retrieve her car and get back into her lane of work, she knows that the attractive man who is partially at fault for her concussion is the man she's needed all of her life (but credit is due that he's the one who's helped her nurse her back to health, too). Killian supports her, and cares for her, and is everything that she's lacked for over a decade.

 

Killian is, no lie, _very_ good looking, or say, _dashing_ , as he so gracefully puts it, but he's a great man inside and out, so that settles her doubts a lot of the time.

 

(Honestly, though, she still worries about what will happen in the near future. Arguments, bumpy seas, but for now, she's feeling _calm_.)

 

And on the plus side, he won’t be crashing into her car again.

 


	82. full-time and jealous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have time can you write a fic where Killian is the nanny and Emma is the single mom and he falls in love and maybe jealousy from his part but happy ending please?? - **Anonymous**

When he first offers his services to be a nanny to certain single mother _Emma Swan_ , he doesn't intend to fall in love with her.

 

There is no intention for him to fall in love.

 

His intentions are fairly pure, to just take care of her ten year old because she sometimes can't be home with her sporadic _perp chasing_ schedule. Killian is rather impressed that she's behind throwing bail jumpers into jail.

 

His schedule is always quite flexible, given he works from home and is his own boss, so whenever Emma needs him, he will always be there to help. Sure, it's a little weird that he always seems available all times during the days of a week, but it's easy once explained that he works from home and it's just himself behind a screen most of the time.

 

At first, perhaps he seems like a technology nerd, but he is beyond that. He doesn't let Henry play video games into the late hours of the night or right when he gets home from school. Killian enforces the entire _focus on your education_ thing just as much, ensuring that the lad gets his homework done and doesn't procrastinate since procrastination never really leads to the best results. It's just a lesson he teaches her boy, which will hopefully carry on into his later years.

 

When he finds their fridge relatively empty, he knows he needs to go out grocery shopping, but also can't leave a ten year old alone when it's his job to be looking after him.

 

"Henry!"

 

"Yeah?" he yells back.

 

"Grab your jacket, we're going to the supermarket."

 

That's how he finds himself in the supermarket with Emma's son, strolling through aisles and such, filling up the cart with what's necessary for _every_ home. And yes, he left a note on the counter for her to see in case she begins to panic that he's gone off and kidnapped her son to trade illegally or something.

 

If he's going to be staying all so often, he needs to have a stocked up fridge and cupboards for the breakfasts or dinners, or even lunches on the weekends if she's working.

 

Things are a bit rocky the first week though, given that Emma seems to have some trust issues with him during the beginning, but against her, Henry seems to enjoy his company quite well and doesn't care about whatever ground rules he's got to follow when around him. In any case, at least he has the job and gets to spend time with both herself and her son, who really, are both quite the pair. (He may or may not wonder occasionally who the father is, but he never goes out of his way to ask.)

 

(It's funny, though people often mistaking Henry to be his son.)

 

(Maybe he wishes he was.)

 

As much as he's getting paid to care for her boy, he can't help but also care for her a little, too. There is always enough breakfast to go around and a dinner in the fridge composed of what's leftover from before. He tells her how Henry's doing before he leaves, or he just writes a note and leaves it on the same place on the counter just as he finds himself always doing.

 

Killian can tell Emma is a loving mother, he really can. And it seems like she's trying her best to be an ever _better_ mother. Though he really does hope she knows that her little boy isn't expecting so much out of her.

 

He knows she works a more dangerous job, is acutely aware of injuries or grumpy moods. So after some digging around (which is essentially asking Henry), he begins to leave some of her favourite things around.

 

Emma always texts him about when she's going to get home, so he makes sure there's a nice hot cocoa (with cinnamon sprinkled on, apparently), on the counter next to his note right before she returns. Or, sometimes he'll buy the bear paws she favours so much and store them in the cupboards behind a few other things, leaving its location written on the note. Through all of this, he notices herself begin to warm up to him, that she'll laugh and smile more instead of shooting him glares of just being distant and asking of Henry's behaviour.

 

But on one particular, night he finds himself with a message popping up on his phone that bothers him quite a bit.

 

**_got a little beat up tonight, i'll be back late, sorry._ **

 

Immediately, a frown finds his face. It's not the 'having to stay later' that bothers him, it's how it's 11:24PM and she's been bruised up from her bail jumper. He shrugs off his leather jacket that he'd put on earlier and drops it on the arm of the couch before sitting down, picking the remote up and turning on the TV. She may be Henry's mom, the woman who's paying him to do his job of taking care of the _boy_ , but sometimes, she needs someone to take care of her, too. If only she just _lets_ him.

 

So, when the front door unlocks and the doorknob turns, he stands up and heads over, Emma kicking off her heels and leaning against the wall for support. "Bloody hell, how bad was tonight?" he asks, watching her jump a little.

 

"Wasn't that bad," she mumbles. "I thought you would've left by now."

 

"You sent me a message that casually stated you got a _little_ beat up tonight, forgive me for not being exactly fond on the idea of leaving." He sighs softly, eyes scanning over her face. "Henry's asleep, so best we don't talk too loudly. Are you in any pain, love?"

 

"A cut on my hand - which delayed driving a bit - and some bruises on my knee since the ass decided to flip a table which caught me off guard. And aching feet from running in heels, but that's it."

 

He nods, understanding that her injuries aren't so bad, but he heads to the washroom and grabs the first aid kit. He returns to find Emma changed into her more casual clothes, sprawled across the couch, the light illuminating her face from the flashing commercials. Killian grabs himself the ottoman and moves in front, opening up the kit on the coffee table behind him.

 

"Come on, Swan, let's get that cut treated."

 

"It's nothing."

 

"Do you wish for an infection?" he asks. When she sighs and shakes her head, offering her hand, he smirks victoriously, taking her hand and dabbing the disinfectants, which causes her to wince slightly. "Sorry, love," he mumbles, cleaning off the dry blood.

 

It takes all of him to not lift her hand any closer so he can press some kisses to her knuckles. She may be letting him treat her wounds, but he's not so sure if she feels the same as he. He's focused, ripping the band-aid so he can stick it there and let her cut recover up.

 

"Thanks," she huffs out, flexing her fingers and settling her hand on her stomach. "You didn't need to do that."

 

He chuckles. "Just 'cause I care for your boy, doesn't mean I can't care for you too, Swan."

 

"Well, you know, I could've handled it myself."

 

He closes up the first aid kit and nods, understanding her but wanting her to still know that it's okay to be cared for by someone else once in a while. "I don't doubt that - you're quite the strong, independent woman."

 

.~.

 

The first he hears of _Emma Swan_ going on a _date_ feels like a stab to his heart. He never really intended to fall in love with her, but within the past few months, he's grown to, and he can't help it.

 

But, yes, while he stays home to watch over Henry and make sure he does his homework and gets fed, she is going out on a date. And to make things all the better, she's obviously dressed up and bloody _gorgeous_ , stunning, really. While he gets to drink a cold beer and sit in front of the couch and occasionally go to Henry to make sure he's doing his work, he gets to be faced with her in a red dress that makes him both breathless and speechless simultaneously.

 

(The entire _not_ trying to fall in love plan really failed.)

 

"You look fetching in that, Swan," he compliments, having to gulp just at the sight. "Quite a vision, really."

 

He is also observant, so he catches the blush on her cheeks. "Thanks...I guess."

 

"You don't seem very excited for your date," he says, taking a sip from his beer. "Uninterested?"

 

"Set up," she answers.

 

"Don't go."

 

His jealousy is speaking - trying to prevent her from going on this date of hers.

 

"I can't just... _not_ go. I mean, sure I'll probably have a nice time and all with the guy, but I probably won't keep in contact with him anyways." She shrugs, grabbing her keys. "Just take care of Henry, okay?"

 

He forces a smile onto his face and nods. "Aye, I will...uh... have a fine evening then."

 

.~.

 

Although he enjoys his time with Henry while Emma is out on her set up date, the jealousy that courses through his veins is ridiculous. He _knows_ it could turn out badly, but he wants a shot with her, and her being out on a date does not make this any easier for him.

 

He's hoping it turns out that she's uninterested in the guy. He wants to be the lucky bloke at her side. Killian _loves_ Henry, and he's already getting there when it comes to Emma as well, so really, what could go wrong? Sure, she first didn't have much trust in him given that he first flirted a little, but now that he's grown to know the both of them, he does like being around this little family - a family he's interested in being apart of if anything ever gets _serious_ , assuming he gets the chance with Emma.

 

Killian doesn't like the thought of just being the person to take care of her son, get paid at the end of the week, and never be more. He doesn't like the thought that one day she won't need someone to be looking after him at all hours of the day, and he'll be let off to never keep in contact with either of them again. And he certainly _hates_ the thought that another man could take his place if things in some relationship gets serious, simply meaning him being replaced because someone else can do it as well as he does. All of these thoughts and possibilities boils his blood. Perhaps he is a greedy man, selfish and all, but what can he do when his heart wants it?

 

It's not very late when she gets back, around 9PM, the door cracking open with a swing.

 

"Welcome back, love."

 

"Huh - oh hey," she says, taking her heels off. "Where's Henry?"

 

"Reading in his room, I presume. How did your evening go?" he asks, genuinely curious about how it went. He needs to know if he still has a chance.

 

"It was... _okay_. The guy was fishy though, I didn't like him very much, even if he seemed like a nice guy on the outside." She laughs and he feels awfully relieved to know this. "Had nothing in common, really."

 

Killian sighs, patting the spot next to him on the couch. "Tell me about it, Swan. Unless, that is, you would rather forget about the entire thing and just watch a film or two. Perhaps The Princess Bride?"

 

"Let me go change and check up on Henry."

 

.~.

 

He has several temptations the entire time to reach out and rest his hand on her thigh or to draw his fingers through her hair, but he keeps his hands to himself the entire movie and makes quiet remarks that causes her to laugh (or to slap him because he needs to _shut up_ ).

 

By the end of the film, after the _happily ever after_ , her feet are touching his thighs and her head is on the arm rest, a frown on her face evident.

 

"Is there something bothering you?" he asks quietly, knowing that Henry is asleep (him being the one who checked up on him during the movie).

 

"Just that watching this reminds me of what happened tonight. The guy asked me what my favourite movie is, I answered with this, he _sorta_ laughed."

 

"Sort of? Either way, he laughed at your choice of a favourite movie, that's bad form on his part," he tells her.

 

"Yeah, I know," she mumbles, finally sitting up, but tucking her feet and bringing her knees up. "Somewhere in my mind during that date, I knew that you would never laugh."

 

He softens immediately at what she says, and keeps himself attentive and understanding. "Did you now?"

 

"Mhm," she hums, smiling just a _tiny_ bit. "You respect me and everything I stand for and love. And you're so good with Henry, I never hear the end of it from him even if you force him to make sure to _absorb knowledge_ and _do homework_. He's never had a positive father figure in his life, it's pretty awesome that he has you to fill in that space."

 

It's something he thought he'd never hear in his life, and just hearing that he's like a father figure to Henry makes his heart do a little leap. He knows he has a chance, and he knows for sure he cares about Emma more than her just being a source of income. "Well, I am beyond flattered and honoured to play that role." It's an honest statement he's making here. He really does care, and come to think of it, he already sees Henry as his own son, even though he never will be; that he'll never be his _actual_ father, but just a man who can take over and be one where needed.

 

And if he is understanding all of this correctly, it sounds like Emma _likes_ him being around. So, that’s some sort of hope.

 

"You didn't want me to go on that date, did you?"

 

The question isn't an absurd one, especially because the answer to that is _yes, I didn't want you to go on it_ , and he's not sure if he should be so direct given her old trust issues and her stubborn personality. "Would you prefer me being honest?" It's a stupid question, is what he realizes, since Emma is so adept at picking out lies.

 

"Yes?" she laughs, it coming out sort of like a question.

 

"Then no, I _wanted_ you to go on that date," he declares all dramatically and sarcastically, causing her to laugh even more (muffled, turning her face into the arm of the couch), despite it being a serious question. But after she calms down, he takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "But aye, Swan, I didn't want you to go out on that date. I wanted to be the one to sit you down for dinner, actually."

 

"Jealous?"

 

" _Quite_ ," he admits, looking away, sheepishly scratching behind his ear. But he builds up the courage during that moment, turning back. "Would you perhaps be interested in a dinner out? Even if it's a lunch date...or something of the sorts. I _like_ you, Emma, but if this doesn't work out, I'll still be what you and the lad need, while we omit the fact we went out. Once."

 

And he swears, all the jealousy and envy fades away when she agrees.

 

The embarrassment, however, returns. Mainly thanks to Henry.

 

"Do you like my Mom?"

 

He's just been making pancakes for breakfast the morning after, so the question catches him off guard for a moment.

 

"Oh come on, I'm ten, not a blind baby, Killian. It's not like I'll make everything hard for you to do if you like her." Henry drinks from his glass of orange juice. "It'd be sorta cool! Mom hasn't liked many guys after my Dad, so..."

 

Killian is quite aware of that situation. "Well, I suppose I can answer honestly and say that I do."

 

.~.

 

Things turn out better than well, actually. They go on more dates and he spends even _more_ time over instead of just the babysitting duties, and before he knows it, there's space in her closet and drawers for him. There's his favourite mug in the cupboards and his favourite beer in the fridge. He and Henry go out to play _football_ ( _for the last time, Swan, it's not soccer, it’s football!_ ) and baseball, and return back to pizza and a movie night.

 

So...yeah, things do turn out well.

 

And thank _god_ his jealousy comes to show sometimes, because it's ridiculous how many times he has to barge in and say that she's _taken_.

 

Soon enough, he forgets about renting again and just moves in to really be a part of the family. Killian Jones is full time family man, now.

 


	83. shall i stay (would it be a sin?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems like life has a way of writing sins for him, because surely he cannot fall in love with his partner in justice who mourns over another. Surely he has the choice of walking away. But, there’s another thing, he can’t help but stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is really inspiration drawn from the song “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis, but I first heard the song from [this cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ThQkrXHdh4). Which is fucking awesome and gives me feels. I recommend listening to the song before reading this because lyric meanings are subtly hinted through what’s written! (for real though, you are miSSING OUT if you haven’t heard this cover.)

Every time the name _Emma Swan_ rolls off his tongue, it's always with a smile.

 

She's a bloody spitfire, her stubborn, intelligent self. He's never had the pleasure of working alongside anyone like this before, but they're both relatively new to the entire _detectives_ field (yet outrageously good at it). Killian certainly cannot complain about her personality or her beauty, and he's never been so taken aback by any woman before. Emma is definitely the first to leave him embarrassingly speechless, but they're partners now, at least for the time being. He'll just have to handle himself as a gentleman.

 

Not that he isn't one on the regular.

 

Some of the cases they get assigned are utterly disturbing, and surely he'll have some of those burned to memory, but neither of them waver from the job when given the task. He begins to learn that they make a bloody fantastic team, her ability to search for the subtle, yet important details of a crime scene and dish out a liar, with the combination of his perceptiveness and clockwork of a working brain. Also, let's not forget the fact they're both decently trained in hand-to-hand combat, though he must say his gun accuracy is far more impressive sometimes (and it's a cleaner job).

 

_("I don't mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite the team."_

 

_"Yeah, we do.")_

 

At first when he catches sight of the _flirting_ between her and Graham, he swears his stomach does a flip and his jaw clenches on its own accord. He knows better than to care, they after all, are simply work partners. Her love life is her own and does nothing to concern him. But, he knows the way he turns the corridor and exits the precinct to go get lunch to end up sitting alone in a diner means he's jealous.

 

 _It's nothing but a fleeting crush_ , he continuously tells himself flipping through the latest case details, pushed back in his chair. Killian's always been able to somehow read her like an open book ( _"You're somewhat of an open book." "Am I?" "Aye." "Better close it."_ ). It's clearly obvious to him that she's despised love and trust before, and now, he'll only have one out of the two. Trust. It's just not enough for him, but this is how life goes, how some things may be meant to be, despite how he hates the idea of there being a fate; his choices being made for him instead of him having to make the decisions freely for himself.

 

The more time he spends analysing cases and going out on trips with her for work, the more he realizes his _fleeting crush_ is not so fleeting. And not so crush-y.

 

By this point, he's just trying to brush it off, but it doesn't work like that.

 

"You okay there, Jones?"

 

He hasn't even realized he's been dozing off from their task when he's usually quite focused. "Aye, uh, just didn't sleep well last night." Which isn't really a lie considering he _hasn't_ been sleeping well since the entire jealous feeling has been humming through his blood for the last few days. Killian knows better than to lie anyways. She is a walking lie-detector, which comes in handy but is also a pain in his arse if he can't say anything of false nature. "Sorry, Swan."

 

"Yeah? Well, you better catch up on that rest because I think we'll be having to do some work overnight and early." She sighs and chucks the manila coloured folder at him, which he catches just in time with his reflexes. "Case is nasty and has been delayed because all the other detectives have refused to work on it. Look at it."

 

Obeying her command, he opens the folder, a few papers slipping from its original spot. Images are rather morbid and as nasty as Emma has implied, and there aren't too many leads on it yet, apparently. "Bloody hell," he mumbles, flipping some sheets up so he can read the rest of what's provided. "Just us, then?"

 

"Graham offered his help."

 

"He's only an officer."

 

"He's got _forces_ we don't have," she retorts. "And he's being promoted soon."

 

Killian doesn't like the way she responds so quickly to Officer Humbert's defense, but for her, he just smiles and nods, closing the folder and setting it down on the desk in front of him. The man will try and set aside his feelings for Emma, given that she's not infatuated with _him_ but in another man who he'll be working with for a while. He may as well prepare himself for grumpy days and denying any of his ideas, assuming that Killian will grow to dislike Graham Humbert.

 

But, still, he will respect the wishes of the lady. (She can beat him to pulp, after all.)

 

.~.

 

Hours on end with a woman he is frustratingly beginning to like more than a friend is an utter disaster on his part. Sure, he's contributed well with her ideas, with some side thoughts from Graham when he drops by, but Killian doesn't exactly make any eye contact with the man while he's present.

 

And despite jealousy and envy and all sorts of other emotions coursing through his mind and his veins, the Irishman is a kind fellow, which he really shouldn't be ignoring considering that's rude. But he _wants_ something he can't exactly have, since reality has a surefire way of screwing things over for him, thus he's been being a bit ignorant on the man who's trying to help them solve a case that neither of them have had much luck with getting through with. Perhaps he should loosen up a bit, grab some coffee, and get back to work with a fresher mind and more adrenaline to burn.

 

So, that is what he does.

 

When he returns, he has enough energy and a brain ridded of the negative thoughts.

 

For now.

 

.~.

 

"I kissed Graham."

 

He drops his pen but promptly picks it off the floor, throwing it onto his desk before turning to face her. He's not sure how to respond to _that_ sudden news, but it's more than he's expected, and that same burning ache of jealousy in his chest returns. He wants to kiss her.

 

He's wanted to kiss her when she came in bearing a lunch he'd been dying to have, knowing exactly what he usually orders. He's wanted to kiss her when she'd looked like a complete mess one morning, her hair in a messy bun, eyes heavy-lidded in need of rest, and skin pale beneath the bright lights on the ceiling.

 

Yet, she's kissed Graham instead.

 

"Did you kiss him, or did he kiss you?" he asks, unable to respond any differently.

 

"I mean, he kissed me but I kissed him back and now it's sort of...awkward." She sighs and plops down on her chair at the desk opposite of him.

 

"Swan, I'm not a blind man, but the both of you seem to have _something_." This isn't what he wants to encourage between her and Graham, but he can't just... _swoop_ in and steal her away. That's bad form, and she doesn't feel the same. If he's going to win her heart, he's going to do so without any trickery. "Perhaps you should just talk to him about it." He shrugs, unsure of what else he can tell her. He does not want to drive her toward the other man, but he also can't tell her to ignore him. "Or just trust your gut."

 

Silence lapses between them, before he hears the shuffle of papers from her desk and a huff. "What if I can't trust my gut?"

 

"Then I suppose it's between trusting your heart and mind, love."

 

.~.

 

Graham doesn't attend their meeting the next day, and even he grows suspicious. He's a dedicated officer who's about to get his promotion in less than a week, there's no way he would purposely not show up to work.

 

Emma's tried to reach his cell for ages, but it keeps redirecting her to his voicemail.

 

Despite the indifference he feels because of the relationship between Graham and Emma, even Killian has to grow worried about his unheard absence. He doesn't expect any of that _bad_ news yet, but his stomach is churning and he feels like something has gone horribly wrong.

 

He's never been the very best at the technological side of things, but he definitely knows how to track the signal of a phone when it comes to dire measures like now. The entire precinct is buzzing around with the notification that the humble, loyal Officer Humbert has gone missing and no one knows where he is. Well, Killian has an idea of where he is when he uses his work hours to secretly track the last use of his phone being on, but dread begins to fill him when he realizes that the location he's tracked it to was the last well-known location related with the case they've done on for weeks.

 

Wise enough, he tells Emma because he _can't_ lie to her about this, no matter how it may leave her heartbroken in the end. At the least, she deserves the truth.

 

"Maybe he turned his phone off."

 

There is something beyond desperation in her voice, and his heart cracks for her.

 

"Swan, we both well know that he'd have returned by now, even if his phone was not turned on." It's not like him to be so pessimistic, but the odds don't seem to be in their favour. "I'll go talk to Dave - see if we can borrow a cruiser to head over and search for him. Alright, love? We'll find him."

 

.~.

 

She's already gone before he comes back, and telling Dave, they both know she's gone to the location herself, impatient and _needing_ to see the man she's been having feelings for.

 

He finds her on the dirty floor, a body clutched close on her thighs, obviously the body of Graham Humbert. Motionless, definitely paler than the usual...

 

Dead. 

 

"Swan?" he quietly asks. Her head moves slowly, her eyes red from the tears and her hands red from the blood. He kneels beside her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders on instinct, not even second-thinking about what he's doing.

 

He needs to comfort her, be a rock for her.

 

"He's gone," her quiet voice whispers, so broken and scared and _lost._

 

His fingers tighten on her shoulder until he brings her close against him, letting her fist her bloody hand in his shirt. Killian lets her cries continue as his fingers move to her upper back, rubbing up and down subtly, occasionally making contact with her loose strands of hair. "I know, love," he murmurs. "I'm sorry."

 

The old, large cellar echoes her sobs, and he has to clench his eyes shut and sigh into her hair, pressing a kiss to it while he offers his own quiet support. Even if he was going to compete for her affections, he wouldn't know how to feel if one of the two died a tragic death of ignorance and honour. Honour has caused death in his eyes so many times before, both Liam, his brother, and now Graham. They were both men who took pride in their line of work, but ultimately their sacrifices beyond mutual understanding which led to more suffering and pain with the others around them.

 

Tears stain and splatter through the fabric of his shirt until she finally quiets down, her breathing still as ragged as before.

 

"It was my fault."

 

"Woah, woah, Emma, where in the bloody world did you get that blasted idea?"

 

She scoffs, too bitter for his own taste that nearly makes him cringe. "I got him involved."

 

"Still not your fault," he promises her, his hand now stroking through her hair. "It was _never_ your fault, love."

 

.~.

 

He chooses to stay.

 

Not because she has just lost someone, or because he wants to chase after her heart, but because it's the right thing to do, but because he's her _friend_ and partner, and everything in between.

 

He _chooses_ to stay.

 

Albeit his heart aches for her to see her in pain, he stays because she needs someone to be there, and because he's the only one who can try and be that person. As much as he owns something more against her than the entire 'just friends' thing, there is still quite a bit he can do to help her get through this grieving stage of her life.

 

Because what hurts...what hurts is the _almosts_ and _could'ves_. That they _almost_ ended up together. That they _could_ have been together if things were sorted out.

 

So he _stays_.

 

.~.

 

Her spirit has dimmed, and what's left in her green eyes is the look of her mourning over Graham's death. Killian does not blame her, since he's already had to deal with his brother's death which took him a long while to recover from (and not exactly fully recover, either), so he lets her deal with it her way. But, he makes his presence obvious and his help offered along the way, and as long as he can see that hint of a smile grace her face, he knows _Emma Swan_ is still in there.

 

It's the rawness that nibbles deep in the heart when someone cared for leaves, and it seems like, once again, she has to experience it.

 

.~.

 

He is left to pick up her pieces and put her back together, but the weeks leading up to the man's funeral -

 

She doesn't show up.

 

He goes to find her at her apartment (the door unlocked), and there's an empty bottle of scotch hanging loosely from her hand, face scrunched up like a nightmare is haunting her.

 

He knows.

 

.~.

 

It is sad, given that he's falling in love with her when she's not the woman that seems interested in the entire 'love' thing again. Killian can't help it. It's what the heart wants.

 

Isn't this wrong?

 

It's wrong. It's all wrong.

 

But slowly, at least, her spirit rises once again. Some days her warm laughter and smile returns, but other days it feels like she thinks she has the entire weight of the world on her shoulders. Considerably, he knows she's been looking into finding the man who shot Graham and let him bleed to death, and as much as he knows it's a pointless endeavor to search for a man who's probably fled the country after being found once (by a now dead officer), he lets her do as she pleases.

 

He'd be a fool to try and win her over now, while she's not over Graham's death entirely, while she's just about getting better. His brother would scold him and tell him to let her have her own space, but it's been four months now since finding his lifeless body - how long will he let her mourn?

 

 _Just long enough_ , he supposes.

 

.~.

 

By the sixth month, there's been too much pent up pining and hope over whether she reciprocates any of the sort of feelings he has for her. His patience has wavered several times since the last few weeks of work, getting to see her at her top game and all, so he has no choice but to finally confess his feelings and have faith for the best.

 

And rejection is utterly _horrifying_ , but he hopes the weight over his chest will be lifted once he finally tells her he's fallen in love.

 

"Swan," he calls, closing the door behind their joined office. "I'm aware you're still behind those walls of yours, but I've been hoping to tell you for so long now, I can't keep it in anymore."

 

"This sounds serious. You're not going to tell me you're in love with me, are you?"

 

His breath hitches when she says that, and he closes his eyes and sighs, her prediction (meant as a joke, obviously) being spot on. "Well..."

 

"Killian -"

 

"I'm in love with you, Emma. And every day, I think I fall a little more in love with you, but I can't help it. I'm a bloody fool, considering someone like you deserves someone better than I, but working with you for over eight months has been a pleasure, despite the incident, and has left me seeing you as none other than a strong, lovely, woman who's dedicated and passionate about her job." He sighs and averts his eyes away from her, knowing that she must not acknowledge or care about how he feels. "Apologies if I've pounced on you with this information. Just..." He doesn’t really finish that off, leaving it hanging.

 

When he first met her, she was a little quiet. He believed of it as a challenge which he gladly took upon.

 

This one time, her silence is definitely off putting, so he takes that as a sign to leave.

 

Preparing himself for the rejection wasn't enough, after all. He nods a little, a smile (sadly) on his face as he lifts his eyes to see her mix of confusion and surprise. Killian doesn't waste his time, turning around and leaving after giving her time to speak, only to be given nothing but the thick air of a silent _no_ or _sorry, not now_ or _I don't feel the same_.

 

His hope for admitting this ultimately leaves him with his chest feeling heavier than when he first entered her office, and an ache that he can't seem to rid himself of.

 

For now, he has chosen not to stay.

 

(He will return, just like he always does.)

 

(He cannot help but stay in the first place, anyways.)

 

.~.

 

Meanwhile, Dave hands him another case to work on alone with some of the other officers, but it's a particularly dark case. On the way to the scene, the cars and cruisers get ambushed by one of the more notorious gangs in the city.

 

Cars skid out of control, traffic goes completely haywire, and bullets are flying in and out through the windows.

 

He ducks immediately, but with the way the officer in the passenger seat is shouting that the driver's down...he's prepared for the car to crash.

 

It's not as bad as he thought it'd be, but the airbags still go off and there's the smell of burning rubber, and he can feel pieces of glass poking it's way through his jeans and to his leg. It's not too bad, _yet_ , but it still hurts. He unbuckles his seatbelt hastily, trying to escape the car that smells like it's about to explode. He also smells the faint bit of that coppery blood, and with a glance to his right, he finds that the guy beside him took a bullet to the head and has blood all over. Killian has to groan, also cringing knowing another comrade has been lost. It takes him a moment for him to take notice of how things hectic are outside before he opens the door, budging it open more easily with a quick kick.

 

More sirens are going off in the distance, and as he's about to exit the car, another couple of shots ring off and hit the metal in front of him. Killian seizes up for a second, deciding against opening the door completely, pulling it back and ducking his head low. He keeps himself below the destroyed window, searching for the gun on the cop next to him, finding that and some spare ammunition.

 

"Did you call for backup?" he asks the guy up front who’s still alive.

 

"Yeah, should be fighting their way through traffic. We have to keep our heads low and get out of here, though. If the car blows, we'll be done."

 

"Bloody hell, mate, I didn't really need to hear that last bit," he grumbles, trying to push the dead officer out of the way so he can open up the opposite door. "We're not even in a police cruiser."

 

"Guess they've been tracking us," he grumbles. "Any luck with the door?"

 

Killian grunts as he attempts to kick it open, hearing a crack before it opens up. "Aye, got it. Let's get out of here, rendezvous with the others, and eliminate any of the bloody bastards that stand in our way. Got it, officer?"

 

"Understood, Detective Jones."

 

It's a frenzy, weaving in between cars and the clogged up traffic. He and the officer are nearing the flashing lights, and of course his crap luck strikes when he feels something scrape his right leg, a little of that burning sensation. It's not that large of a wound in his concern, the bullet at least not actually piercing into his leg. Killian only stumbles a little on his foot, the same message reeling through his head on repeat to get with the backup. Plus, he's sure he feels another piece of glass something wedged into the back of his left thigh, but there's no time to stop and inspect any injuries, not when the entirety of his life and many others are at stake.

 

He considers themselves lucky, escaping that little predicament back there. He finds Emma calling his name and rushing to his side, just as he moves to find that his left leg doesn't feel any better than before after the glass pieces.

 

"Killian, are you okay?"

 

He needs to catch his breath, nodding being the only thing he can do.

 

"You're bleeding, though. Let's get you to the paramedics and get you patched up."

 

As strong a she knows she is, he can hear her voice shaking. _Does she really care_? Of course she does, he is still her partner in the end, and friends still care, right? Either way, he lets her slowly help him around the mess of police vehicles to the ambulance, where they take him in and get to treating his wounds. But, since these guys aren't in stock for everything, he has to be sent to the hospital to make sure they can check him thoroughly. Not a very pleasant idea, but it's for his own good, and he knows it.

 

They say he's fine, that his wounds have all been addressed and fixed, and that the last thing he needs is some sleep so his wounds heal well. It's the first time he gets that much sleep, considering his mind has been rather clogged by the rejection from Emma recently.

 

When he wakes up, satisfied with the amount of sleep he'd fitted in, he feels a weight on his right hand.

 

It's Emma, and she's asleep, her head tucked to the side, surely to do her neck a horrible job. He doesn't mean to, but he adjusts the positions of their hands so he brushes his thumb over her knuckles gently, watching her calm, sleeping form. Her sleep must be a deep one, considering she's not moved an inch since he's flipped their hands around so their palms face each other and their fingers are laced.

 

With a look out the window, he can tell it's dark outside, no light coming into the room besides from the ceiling. He slept through the afternoon and into the night, then.

 

But that is the least of his concerns. What he is concerned about is the fact that simply holding her hand, even in her sleep, makes his heart flutter. That maybe this means she cares more than a just a friend. And perhaps he's been looking at this wrong. Or maybe she just feels pity...no, Emma hates pity herself, she would never do the same to him. Unless he's been wrong the entire time - reading her has never meant _understanding_ her.

 

In the midst of all this thinking, he dozes off for a bit again, waking an hour later to her touch. "Hey," he murmurs, unsure of what else to say. The last time he spoke to her, he spilled out all of his feelings - forgive him for being so doubtful.

 

"Hey, yourself," she retorts, smiling. "How're you feeling?"

 

"Not bad, if I'm being honest." He moves his legs a bit, and though it's sore, he should be able to handle it. "A little sore."

 

"You ran for your life with a piece of glass stuck into your leg and a bullet scrape, I think that's expected. That entire gang thing's been solved, though."

 

He chuckles, but stops and stills when she brushes hair off his forehead. God, he's been _rejected_ , he needs to get over himself here. But he trusts her with his life, he believes in her, and he cares for her. Killian knows how much he loves her, _god_ , how he wishes she'd only feel the same. It's obvious she doesn't though; no possible way she sees _them_ as more than friends. Her silence has made it abundantly clear to him.

 

But, perhaps he’s wrong. Again.

 

He essentially freezes in shock when her lips make contact with his. Killian has wondered - for god knows how long - how she kisses, how it _feels_ to be kissed by Emma Swan, and now he knows. As much as it may be wrong for them to be a thing, it feels so right in all the other ways.

 

Killian's hand snakes up into her hair and pulls her closer to him, as much possible without interfering with the bed he's been sleeping in, yet still allowing himself to deepen the kiss. If they weren't in a hospital and if his legs weren't aching, he'd have more impure thoughts roaming through his mind, but tonight, he is occupied with this woman and her mesmerizing beauty to her stunning intelligence.

 

When she pulls apart, he almost has the urge to chase after her lips even more, to savour the feeling for as long as it may last, but he stays still, trying to register that he's just kissed Emma.

 

"You know that day when I asked you for advice on Graham?"

 

He gulps, hoping that _this_ means something. "Aye."

 

She nuzzles her nose closer into his cheek, and he smiles a little (he _still_ feels insecure after that kiss). "I didn't know what to do because I was torn between two men. One was Graham, obviously, and the other was you. You told me to trust my gut, but my gut was saying Graham because he was _safe_ , you know?" Her laugh follows, a little self-deprecating that makes his inner-self cringe. "But then you said the heart and the mind, and both of those led to you."

 

Now, it is no lie he is shocked of her confession. "But..."

 

"I know. I was a mess after Graham's death. Only because I had known him for a longer time, and he was still one of my best friends. I still blamed myself for his death."

 

It's easy for him to understand that, of course. "Emma, it still isn't your fault - you should know that."

 

"Yeah, that's why I said _blamed_ \- past tense." She retreats, sitting back down on the chair, and he immediately misses her touch. Somehow, she must read him just as well, because she takes his hand. "You made me see otherwise and you stayed with me throughout the entire mess. You could have left me, you know? People were always letting me down -"

 

"Hey, I don't intend to let you down," he immediately interrupts, needing to assure her that there's no way in hell he's going to ever purposefully let her down, even if they aren’t more than partners and friends.

 

She lifts his hand and her lips brush against his knuckles. "I know," she sighs, a small curl on her lips. "I just guess...when you told me how you felt...I blanked. I didn't want to ruin things between us - I didn't want you to _leave_."

 

"I'm still here, aren't I, Swan?"

 

"Yes, you are, but I'm still scared - okay? Just - I..."

 

There's only been one time he's seen her seem so _little_.

 

There is no doubt of what he feels, and he doesn't doubt how much fear she must hold that he'll just exit the room or go somewhere she can't follow, but he needs to assure her that he's in it for the long haul and that he's up for any challenge for them to face. "Good. Then we can be bloody terrified of where this leads us together."

 

.~.

 

Wherever she goes, he goes. Neither of them risk leaving each other alone, no matter how safe it may be.

 

Interrogation rooms, crime scenes, _home_.

 

He knew the moment he first saw her, he was a stupid, enraptured man. He knew the moment they first solved a case together, they made a great team. He knew the moment she first took his hand, his entire life was in her own.

 

If Graham's death was meant to be, so be it. If being in a near death experience being ambushed by a gang with a multitude of heavy armory was meant to be, so be it. If him ending up with _her_ _is_ meant to be, he'll be forever in debt.

 

Sure, things aren't all happy all the time. They've already had their fair share of arguments over cases and who does what at _home_ , but throughout it all, he can't help falling in love with her a little more. He can't help but feel like his blood immediately cools when she's riled up and frustrated where she has a reason to be like that. He can't help but finally sit down with her and solve the issues bothering them when he knows yelling or walking out will hurt her.

 

All these things are what matter to her - not the big, grand gestures of love and whatnot.

 

It's remembering her favourite drinks, colours, and films. It's knowing her teenage memories (despite them being not the best), and being able to relate them to why she is who she is now. It's drawing a hot bath or giving her a massage after a rough day at work. It's knowing that she seems to love holding hands whether it's because she doesn't want to lose him or because she just wants to for her own sake.

 

And what he loves the most about Emma Swan is how she does the exact same for him.

 

It's how she knows his favourite lunch orders or the snacks he likes to treat himself to throughout a day in the office. It's how she encourages him to go to the gym with her during their spare time so they can keep up to par with each other in _other_ activities. It's how she knows he likes the sea and wants to take her sailing one day.

 

But then again, he loves all of Emma.

 

And it's extremely cheesy and romantic and completely like what David and Mary Margaret are (though he loves to convince himself his love with Emma is _different_ ), yet he's just relieved to know that he was never the only one harbouring romantic feelings. Now he knows she does, that they both do, and it seems like neither of them plan for those feelings to die out anytime soon.

 

"What're you thinking about?"

 

He doesn't say anything, just presses his nose between her curls and into the nape of her neck. He tightens his arm around her waist and presses closer.

 

"Really, no answer?"

 

"Back to sleep, Swan," he grumbles, instead of responding properly. His thumb brushes across the bare skin of her flat stomach, their activities from their previous night leaving them both _quite_ bare but warm under the covers.

 

Killian's been awake for half an hour now, just relishing the moment of silence and serenity. It's not often like this in the office when they're on a case and running around, when their minds have been functioning for fifteen hours straight, or when one of them has been frustrated with a person they're trying to interview. Therefore, he enjoys these moments he gets to have with her without the entire rush of their career running around them non-stop.

 

"No - _nope_ \- you're telling me what you've been thinking about," she insists, flipping around in his arms, causing the mattress to bounce a little beneath them. "Come on."

 

With a sigh, hopeless against avoiding he stubborn wrath of his beautiful Swan, he needs to answer her. "I can't help falling in love with you, Swan."

 

"Isn't that Elvis?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.

 

Grinning, he shrugs. "Perhaps."

 


	84. i'd recognize you (anywhere you go)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. always getting the same cashier at target no matter what day it is au
> 
> i don't care if it's not christmas, i involved christmas anyways.

It's funny that every time he goes to Target just to get some basic necessities, he finds himself with the same cashier tending to his checkout _every day_.

 

Not that _he's_ complaining.

 

 _Emma_ as her nametag says, is a lovely cashier who's fantastic at her area of service. Plus, she's easy on the eyes. And she's got his eyes for sure, knowing that he's developed a little, stupid crush on her. He has never once thought he'd find himself infatuated to the cashier that checks out his stuff, but here he is, second in line and anticipating his short moment he'll get with her on this fine Monday evening.

 

"You again?"

 

"Flattered to know you recognize me, lass." He chuckles and pulls his wallet out from the back pocket of his jeans while she scans all of the items. "Business seems slow today."

 

"It is," she confirms, carefully placing his stuff into a bag. "Twenty-eight, sixty-five."

 

He pulls out a fifty dollar bill (he needs to head over to a bank later...and he forgot his credit card), handing it over to her, and digging out sixty-five cents so he doesn't get too much spare change. That weighs his wallet down, and he doesn't exactly like carrying that extra weight around of coins he doesn't always get to use.

 

"Hope you have a nice day."

 

He smiles, taking his bag and nodding. "You too, Emma."

 

Despite the short moment they can only have, he savours it. It's a different situation between them here, considering he can't exactly ask her out on a date or anything while there's other people around. And he doesn't want to seem like a bloody arse, so there's got to be some sort of planning involved in order to talk to her at a different time.

 

.~.

 

It's Saturday this time, the holidays around the corner, and he's working on his Christmas shopping. He's not exactly the type to go last minute though, but this time between balancing time from work and to go buy presents, he's not so lucky. Getting what he needs and wants for Liam and his side of the family isn't difficult, but having to wait in the long lines is the more painful part. He's not much into standing in lines, but that's how it is when it comes to Christmas shopping on a weekend.

 

He catches sight of her, and though she's working as fast as she can, there's clearly a lack of interest for the entire 'holiday spirit' sort of thing with her. It's almost like she's heading into distress, but handling it fine.

 

"Oh god, someone I recognize," she practically mumbles, starting to scan out his items.

 

He laughs. "Tiring, isn't it?"

 

She perks up visibly, and he can't help but smile that he's somehow helping her get through a monstrosity of a day. "Yeah, a lot of purchases and long lines. Also not one for Christmas, but I can't really evade national holidays like this."

 

It's obvious she's surprised by the toys when she gets there, so he quickly says, "Niece and nephew."

 

"Ah." She nods and bags them before telling him the price, and at least _this_ time he remembers to bring his credit card, using that instead of spending bills where he doesn't need to. Besides, Christmas shopping can get quite expensive when everything stacks up in the end. "Well, I hope you'll have a nice Christmas with your family."

 

He nods. "Aye, and a merry one to you, too, love."

 

Something flickers across her face, but just as fast as it's there, it's gone soon later, and she nods and smiles, something of the fake nature. There's no time for him to chit-chat, not when there's still like twenty people standing in line to pay as well, so he heads off wondering why she must dislike the holiday so much. It's meant for everyone to be happy, but she certainly seems like she might even _hate_ it.

 

.~.

 

Work has caught him up so much, he'd nearly forgotten to get his nephew a birthday present. By _tomorrow_.

 

The thing is, he doesn't realize this until the later hours of this Wednesday, _right_ before Target is supposed to close, and he knows he'll be screwed if he shows up empty-handed to Michael's little birthday celebration. Liam will be disappointed that his own brother failed at bringing a present, and Elsa will be, too. He doesn't want to let down the people he loves.

 

That's what gets him to drive out late, rushing to the Target he knows, finding it's just about to close before he bursts in the doors.

 

"What the hell?"

 

Glancing up, he finds Emma standing there with keys in her hand. "I'm sorry, Emma, but could you perhaps do me a favour and stay a little late?"

 

"Just cause you're a frequent customer, doesn't mean I'll do that," she says.

 

He sighs, bringing one hand up to rub the back of his neck. "I'll understand if you won't, but my nephew, Michael, has his birthday tomorrow, and I was quite busy with work this week I forgot to buy something for him. Irresponsible of me, I know, but I can't quite show up to his birthday party being the empty-handed Uncle, can I?'

 

Emma opens her mouth and then closes it, shaking her head. "Make it quick?"

 

"As swift as I could possibly be."

 

"Hurry up, then."

 

With a grateful smile, he speeds off to the toys section for children, finding the perfect toy ship and some wrapping paper and a bag before making his way back quickly to the front to check out. Emma is waiting for him and he speeds up his footwork a bit more, knowing he's already causing her inconvenience by entering right at the closing hours.

 

"Thank you once again, Emma."

 

She shrugs, putting his stuff into the bag. "You seem like you care a lot about your family, I wasn't going to lock you out and make you seem like an asshole Uncle in front of them."

 

"I'd assume you care a lot about yours, too?" Killian is not a blind man. He notices her hesitate on her movements, ripping the receipt out and making him sign it. "Apologies if I've offended you, I -"

 

"I was a foster kid," she quietly says, interrupting him. "It's nothing though, you didn't know. You don't need to apologize."

 

"That was out of line, still," he insists, suddenly understanding the reasons of why she _doesn't_ like Christmas or the holidays in general. "Emma? Would you...perhaps like to come over for a drink? It's the least I can do considering what trouble I've caused tonight."

 

"No, no, it's getting late and you have a present to wrap for tomorrow. Maybe another time?"

 

Although that's rejection, she doesn't say she's not interested, so he has some hope. "Aye, another time works."

 

(Too much of a gentleman, he walks her to her car to know her name is Emma _Swan_ and for himself to finally introduce himself.)

 

.~.

 

"So, did you nephew like the present?"

 

It took him a while to get the right time to go out for a drink, but he's got it now, with her sitting across from him at a coffee shop not too far off from where she works. "Aye, can't keep his hands off of it," he says. "Much like his father and I - we're both ex-Navy - so the boy's got some sea in him, I suppose. Definitely a Jones lad."

 

Emma's smile is bright and warm, a sight he loves. Her smile is wonderful just in general, though. When she smiles when she says goodbye to him after checking his stuff out, or even when he first catches sight of her in line.

 

And besides, speaking of Emma, after he told Liam of the entire _I nearly forgot to get your son who is my nephew a present_ and how he came to getting one, his brother was not surprised it was this girl he'd mentioned before. Liam's been encouraging him to go after her ever since (and _meet_ her), as has Elsa. Though their burden of trying to get him to talk to her is a heavy one, he _has_ been delaying this for months, and has grown to know that his crush isn't just some fling for him. He does like her, and so far, he's loving the get-to-know thing stage.

 

"Well, I'm glad to hear that."

 

"It was thanks to you though, love. If you hadn't let me buy something that night, I would have had to wake up early and go out and buy something while half-awake." He laughs a little, scratching behind his ear (a stupid habit he can't get rid of himself).

 

Emma shrugs. "It wasn't a big deal, anyways."

 

"It was a big deal to me. And the little boy."

 

"You're so dramatic."

 

He grins, tilting his head to the side slightly. "Are you complaining, Swan?"

 

Her smile isn’t hidden. So beautiful and lovely, and dear _god_ \- is this was falling in love feels like?

 

"Nope. Just stating a fact, is all."

 

.~.

 

When Christmas rolls around again, he finds himself bringing Emma with him to the Christmas celebration they have, knowing that this year, he gets to share it with her and the rest of his family (which honestly, is hers, too).

 

The kids though, god, they adore her more than their own Uncle, and he's not sure whether he's supposed to love that they love _her_ as much as he loves her, or if he should be offended that he's no longer the favourite around here. Maybe a bit of both will do. But, they've always been much more attached to Emma, especially the day Killian first brought her along to meet his brother and sister-in-law. There being a seven and a five year old, they've taken up every opportunity they get to talk and play with _his_ girlfriend.

 

He's sitting on the couch next to her, his arm slung around behind her while she rests her head on his shoulder. "Better than Christmas alone, love?" he asks quietly, while the kids keep wanting to open their presents and the parents insisting not until _tomorrow morning_.

 

"Yeah, much better than the entire Netflix and hot cocoa on the couch in a quiet apartment alone," she mumbles.

 

Quietly, he hums, happy to know she loves this as much as he does. "And better when you're working during the weeks for present shopping?"

 

"Oh yeah, I've got stuff to look forward to, and it makes being a cashier and seeing all these people with family so much easier." She sighs. "I never knew I could enjoy it like this."

 

Killian presses his lips into her hair and lingers there before she squirms around a bit so she can look up at him. He just smiles down at her and she smiles back, but their moment is ruined when two kids end up climbing up and onto their laps, wanting their attention.

 

"Play with us, Uncle _Killy_!" Michael, being the five year old, begs.

 

He hears Emma snort and he glares at her, but he's not angry.

 

He's just...quite in love.

 


	85. danced in the dark (under september stars)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO @piratesails (on tumblr)! the prompt was “au where you have a tattoo of a compass that always points in the direction of your soulmate”.

She grows annoyed of the girls and boys running around school showing off their compass tattoos pointing in the direction of their soulmate.

 

It’s like that everywhere. Every school she transfers to, ever family she ends up in, any foster home she gets thrown into. It’s everywhere, and she literally _cannot handle it_.

 

Emma’s points north, _always_ north, and she hates it.

 

Soulmates aren’t real, they’re fake.

 

She convinces herself of this until she begins to grow up, seeing teenagers date because they’re supposedly soulmates. She catches them kissing in the hallways really briefly, catches them walking around school with their hands linked, and suddenly, she wishes soulmates were absolutely non-existent and only some sort of dumb invention in society.

 

Except, it’s not.

 

And what blindsided way she’s taken to approach this notion, she realizes she’s wrong and it’s just completely unfair because who the hell could possibly be _her_ soulmate? And whoever her soulmate is, well, he must deserve someone better than the broken bits and pieces she could possibly ever offer.

 

Every passing year gets more difficult, because people around her are all dating, engaged, or already married, and she sits quietly with a compass that points north.

 

And theoretically speaking, it doesn’t make sense that it continues to point north. Does that mean, because of it being unmoving, that she doesn’t have a soulmate, thus a broken compass? Or does it just mean he never leaves from his spot in this world, wherever he is? She comes up with all the possible opportunities, yet she doesn’t decide on which one is the real answer, because these are all hypothetical possibilities, not true knowledge.

 

She is best friends with a person who has already found her soulmate back in high school, and she has several other friends, distant as they are, who have lived a happy life, or so she’s been told. Emma’s aware that having a soulmate does not distinctly prove as a fact of a life that serves happiness. And she hopes to _hell_ she’ll find someone who will just love her for who she is, because after all, that’s the one thing she’s ever wished for on the days she sees a shooting stars or when it came to the stupid myth of wishing during 11:11 to make those wishes come true.

 

Once again, there’s her problem, she doesn’t believe she deserves someone to love a person as shattered as her.

 

.~.

 

“Are you _sure_ it always points north?”

 

“No, I just lie about it to make myself seem like a loner,” Emma responds, sarcastic tone and all.

 

The way Mary Margaret shifts her weight onto one leg and rests her hand on her hips is a priceless look, but really, Emma isn’t lying when she states that it always points north. Every time they’re out and about in different places, she shows her friend the tattoo and it’s unmoving self as a form of justification to the point of her maybe not having a soulmate.

 

Mary Margaret scoffs, shaking her head. “That’s impossible.”

 

“Nothing is impossible,” Emma recites accurately from the one time Mary Margaret told her exactly that. “Look, can we just drop the topic? My compass is broken, maybe I don’t have a soulmate.” _Maybe I don’t deserve one_.

 

“Fine,” grumbles her friend, “only for now.”

 

Emma smiles triumphantly. “And for now I shall cherish.”

 

.~.

 

Walsh makes her happy.

 

(Or so she thinks.)

 

Her compass is still inevitably broken, but she thinks nothing of it because she’s told herself, on many occasions, that she’s perfectly fine in this current relationship. Sure, he owns a furniture shop and has a weird name (at least in her book), but at least she smiles and laughs and enjoys herself with him.

 

It’s all she’s ever really wanted in the first place, and now she has it.

 

Soulmates don't guarantee happiness, but she likes this relationship, and doesn't mind being invested in it. If anything, at least she’s enjoying the time she spends with Walsh, whether it’s a day out at the park or a restaurant dinner. He...makes her feel wanted.

 

(Her brain tells her that, and she does damn believe it because for once she feels like maybe she’s worth something to someone instead of just a throw-around ball.)

 

But life has a cruel way of telling her otherwise when she realizes Walsh is simply a lying bastard who doesn’t actually _care_ for her whatsoever. She was just a means-to-an-end, and honestly, why did she even expect the good out of him? Why did she bother?

 

(- Because she trusted _him_ , and the one time she chooses to trust someone, they turn their back on her and shatters her, once again, to a million pieces and probably tenfold in terms of having to glue herself back to pieces.

 

From now on, she may as well give up on the ‘let’s try dating’ thing. If anything, this has simply reinforced her belief of her not even deserving a soulmate, let alone a person who loves her for who she is and isn’t a backstabbing asshole.)

 

That’s how she finds herself hurdling herself at glasses of tequila at the local bar closest to her apartment, casually dressed, and oh - _technically_ \- the grumpiest person there. She’s also fairly certain there’s about, maybe, twelve questions going around in her head waiting to be answered by no one but her own stupid conscience (not that she even wants to _listen_ to her conscience speak pointless thoughts to make her life any worse).

 

She also isn’t interested in having a one-night stand, and she’s sure as hell glad she and Walsh didn’t get to _that_ stage in their relationship. Makes it at least less regrettable.

 

It’s safe to say Emma isn’t a frequent customer when it comes to a bar, but she’s not stocked in terms of strong enough liquor to muddle with her thoughts so she can at least go home with a foggy brain to forget the things that have graced her in a horrible mood.

 

 _But_ , it appears as if the handsome, accented man behind the bar isn’t going to allow her to go any further because he’s stopped serving her drinks since _five_ minutes ago - and really, she shouldn’t be complaining -

 

“So, you’re going to deny your services to me?”

 

“I’m denying the services to save you from the worst bloody hangover of your life, aye,” he says with a form of enthusiasm, a cleaning towel slung over his shoulder as he looks at her with his stupidly attractive blue eyes. “Come on, lass, tell me what’s gotten you into this foul mood.”

 

“What, so you’re just going to listen to my problems?” she asks, the words a little slurred in terms of connecting all of them together.

 

He shrugs. “Business is slow tonight and I’ve been told I’m a rather good listener.”

 

A man with an ego...attractive, runs a bar. Well, she’s seen worse. “I’d rather not discuss it.”

 

“Ah! Bad breakup, then?”

 

She just stares at him dumbly, blinking.

 

“Oh, come on, love, I run a bar, I’ve seen many come in here sulking over their exes. It’s not a rare sight for one like me,” he tells her honestly. He doesn’t last long when someone walks in, the door making that little jingle, before he shoots her an apologetic look to go serve other people.

 

Not like she expects him to actually care.

 

Wow, Emma’s found herself in a position where she realizes no one in her life actually cares. (Maybe with the exception of Mary Margaret, David, and Ruby.)

 

“Alright, talk.”

 

His sudden return isn’t unexpected, but Emma rolls her eyes before pulling out a wad of cash. “Unlikely,” she grumbles.

 

Slapping the bills onto the counter, she slurs out a string of words in relation to ‘ _keep the change_ ’ before slipping off from the stool and heading toward the door so she can just head back to her apartment and tumble into bed and wake up in the morning not remembering what the hell she did the previous night.

 

“So you’re just going to run away!” he shouts at her past the music playing in the background, and she turns around to face him.

 

“Yeah.” She nods. “It’s what I do best.”

 

Emma completely skips out noticing the direction his compass points on his wrist.

 

(Not like she’d remember tomorrow morning.)

 

Oh, and let’s be real, she does collide with a brick wall once or twice walking home.

 

.~.

 

Emma knows the next time she goes out for a drink, she’s going to tone down on the amount of shots to take because _damn_ , she feels like she could just lay in bed and not move for another week.

 

Vaguely, she can remember the conversation, well technically lack of conversation, with the good looking bartender.

 

Was he wearing a white dress-shirt with the sleeves rolled up and - what the fuck - _suspenders_? The image is fading in her head, and god _damn_ does she want to go back and check him out -

 

No...no, no, no, she and Walsh just broke up. There’s little to go about there.

 

Shoving those thoughts out of her head, she also shoves herself out of bed and squints at the blinding light through the curtains she only haphazardly drew in her drunk state last night. “Stupid me,” she mutters, going into her closet to raid for a new set of clothes so she can shower and get changed out of the clothes she’d been wearing yesterday.

 

What sucks, really, is the fact that by barely remembering this bartender from last night, she cannot stop thinking about him.

 

 _“Ah! Bad breakup, then?”_ is all she actually remembers from their conversation, and she wishes she knew more, because the last thing she needs is a random bartender knowing of her stupid problems. For all Emma knows, maybe she went on an hour rant about her stupid ex-boyfriend, furniture lover, Walsh, before actually stumbling her way out of there looking like a complete mess...and pathetic, pathetic as much as an emotionally and mentally broken woman could get.

 

She goes about her day as usual, and despite the pissy mood she’s in between chasing her ever-escaping perp and dealing with the emotional turmoil still rumbling about in her after Walsh, she wants to drink. _Again_.

 

And so sue her if she considers also going to the same bar because it’s _closer_.

 

(Sad, sad excuse.)

 

.~.

 

Her memory serves her wrong, or so she thinks.

 

Tonight, he’s wearing a red and black plaid, flannel shirt, but his sleeves are still rolled up as he mixes drinks together.

 

Technically, he’s closing soon because it’s already past two and there’s about twenty minutes left of opening hours’ time left, but she doesn’t want to go back to her ‘home’ yet, not while she needs to unwind from a drink or two.

 

Emma tries to ignore the way he’s smiling, and the way his smile widens when he turns his face and sees her.

 

“You were here last night,” he says while he approaches her from his side of the counter.

 

“Yeah -” she rubs at the back of her neck, locking eyes with him a moment later after lifting her head, “- sorry if I did anything...overly stupid. I tend to do that when I’m drunk sometimes.” She shrugs at the statement, realizing she just can’t speak anymore because the red and black plaid really compliment his striking blue eyes, and just _fuck her_ why does she even care?

 

His laughter booms in a soft way, as if he’s trying to save any attention from landing on them yet he’s also entertained. “Aye? Well, you weren’t too embarrassing last night, though I can tell you’re rather stubborn.”

 

Emma breathes out an, “Oh, thank god,” to her own relief, though he catches that and smiles, the small lift of his lips somehow, as magically as it is, brightening up her day.

 

“You refused, more or less, to discuss the cause to your grumpy mood last night.” His lips are pressed into a straight line, waiting on her to speak further, but when she doesn’t, he continues. “I know, for a fact, milady, that it was a bad breakup, and _no_ -” he brings his hand up to stop her from interrupting him, “- you don’t need to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable. I was offering my services to you simply as a way for you to let out your emotions.”

 

She scoffs at that last bit, and he’s smiling at her again, that blinding, breathtaking, brilliant smile. “Yeah? Did I admit that?”

 

“No...however, you neither agreed nor disagreed, so I made an inference that it was what I thought it was.” He shrugs before bringing up an empty, clean glass. “Now, perhaps you’d like to talk tonight? With a drink.”

 

“Don’t you close soon?”

 

“You’re not inconveniencing me, and staying an extra half an hour won’t do any harm.”

 

He is Killian Jones, she is Emma Swan.

 

For the next ten minutes, he tells her about the girlfriend he had in high school and the failed ones with another few in college because they never really ‘worked out.’ That’s how he puts it, but the way he explains it, it seems like they never were really _serious_ , so there’s that. Emma, on the other hand, finds it so at ease in the moment, she tells him about the guy he dated, the “furniture lover” asshole, and Killian laughs his way through her descriptions - he laughs up until the part where she describes how he was never intending to take things serious with her.

 

His eyes almost darken with this rage, as if he understands, but Emma’s instinct is to ignore that and just let him have his own opinion over the matter.

 

Half an hour turns to an hour while he finishes wiping off the tables and the bar.

 

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

 

She almost spits out the last bit of her drink at the question. “Uhm, well…” Emma just shrugs, feeling like she doesn’t have an answer to that question. She certainly cannot deny that soulmates are real, that people around her have found their soulmates, but then she doesn’t believe she has one or _deserves_ one. “I don’t know.”

 

His eyebrows exchange different positions, one raising and the other dropping. “You don’t know?” he asks, curiosity sticking to his words.

 

“I mean, I _know_ for a fact they’re real and out there,” she begins, tapping her finger on the side of her empty glass, “but...believing _I_ have one is difficult.”

 

The fact that she’s just admitted this to him is something _huge_ because really, she’s only ever admitted it to the few of her best, most trustworthy friends. Yet, it’s only been over an hour of really knowing Killian, and she’s decided she’ll tell him one of her darkest secrets?

 

Wow. Maybe it’s the friendly looking flannel.

 

“I think you do.”

 

And if her heart flutters in her chest and she sees a spark of light at the end of the tunnel, that’s her issue.

 

.~.

 

Maybe she’s stupid for thinking it, but Killian sounds like a man she can have a fling with -

 

It’s stupid.

 

In every side of things, he’s like a friend to her, and she can’t betray him for a one-night stand and never see him again, that’s simply unfair to the both of them, and Emma knows it.

 

She knows he likes sailing on his spare time, she knows he had an older brother who he looked up to dearly, she knows he opened a bar because he loved his alcohol and wanted to serve it, she knows his favourite colour is green, she knows he has a schedule of alternating clothing for his work days, she knows he has a best friend who gets absolutely _pissed_ whenever they’re out to drink -

 

The list can go on forever if she’s given the opportunity.

 

But, then, he knows just as much of her as she does of him.

 

He knows she’s an orphan who’s never felt loved properly in her life, he knows her favourite colour is between yellow and blue, she knows her favourite drink is hot cocoa with cinnamon sprinkled on top of the whipped cream, he knows she chases bail jumpers for a living, he knows she wants to find a house by the sea one day, he knows of her bad relationships, he knows _everything_ her friends know about her in the time span of less than a week and -

 

There’s no complaining from her. He understands her wholeheartedly, and that’s all she's ever wanted, someone to understand her but not pity and sympathize. She knows love is too much to ask for on her part, but understanding isn’t.

 

Whatever deity has given her this man, she will be forever in their debt.

 

Sometimes, her sirens go off - he is a man who seems kind, but then he will betray her. But then, her heart tells her otherwise. The look in his eyes are too much like the ones she has, he just does a far better job at hiding it.

 

“You're something of an open book, Swan,” he says one day, the words hitting her straight in the chest.

 

“Yeah?” Emma asks quietly.

 

‘“Aye. But don’t worry, I’ll keep your secrets safe.”

 

She trusts him, and as much as her brain tries control her otherwise, she doesn’t care.

 

.~.

 

The bar is closer.

 

Her perp was an asshole tonight, and knows for a fact she will not be able to make it back to her apartment without crumbling down in exhaustion. After an intense fight of swings and kicks, she know she’ll drop dead if she exerts too much energy. Her adrenaline has drained a long time ago, and so the least she’s able to do is break into Killian’s bar.

 

Not the front, though. She goes through the back, and his alarm goes off and she curses to herself because _of course_ he has an alarm, but she has a solid reason to breaking in.

 

The police arrive and look at her with puzzled faces, and there’s also Killian sprinting down the stairs in sweats, messy hair, and a white V t-shirt.

 

Emma's curled herself up on the floor with her fellow colleagues standing around her, and Killian’s here and probably _hating_ her for causing such a ruckus and ruining his night. But her eyes feel heavy, and even though he's kneeling next to her, trying to coax her to stay awake, her eyes fall closed and the shuffle of feet and chatter zones out.

 

Waking up is potentially one of the hardest things she's done so far. For one, she’s in the hospital, two, her bones ache and her head pounds and she just _wants to sleep_ , and three, one of her hands are really warm while the other is cold, and her forehead and nose _burns_.

 

The first humanly noise she makes is a grunt. The warmth of her hand is not just warmth, but there’s weight, and it squeezes her hand a little bit and then there’s a soothing, deep voice next to her.

 

“Open your eyes, love.”

 

When she does, she wants to punch him for how unprepared she was for the brightness.

 

And for things that could get any worse, she’s somehow lost her voice and she can only wheeze and whisper. Knowing of this, she clenches her eye shut and huffs a breath from her burning nose, the air coming out just as hot.

 

“You have the flu, Swan,” he says quietly, his thumb brushing across the back of her hand. It’s the hand with her compass on it and Jesus, she hopes he hasn’t seen her broken compass. “And two broken ribs, though they’ve already wrapped you up for that.”

 

Of course she wants to ask him why he’s here, tell him he’ll get sick, ask him about the bar, but no words comes out and he seems to read her mind anyways.

 

“Your well-being is more important than the bloody bar, Emma. I thought I was being robbed, but then I found you curled up on the floor in the storage room with police surrounding you,” he explains, hand tightening around hers. “I was worried.”

 

For once in her life, she has someone beyond her original friends who does _more_ than understand.

 

He extends to caring.

 

.~.

 

He refuses to leave her alone, so he forces her upstairs into his little home above his bar. It’s got that homey feeling to it, the warmth and the decorations tenderly placed about the place. Every hour or so he comes up to check on her, but all she’s doing is sleeping or watching the TV, though her having to laugh at some stupid jokes on the shows she’s watching causes her to wince in pain because she coughs right after her laughs.

 

Next time, she needs to not get whacked with a god damn _wooden plank_. How the hell did her perp even get that?

 

Best she doesn’t think about it.

 

And however the hell she got the flu despite feeling perfectly fine previously is also a mystery to her. Her immune system has always been on top of its game, but not this time.

 

The sound of a door closing causes her to rise from the slumber she’s been in for the past two hours, and even after blinking away as much sleep from her eyes, her eyelids still feel heavy. It’s the flu talking. The lights flicker on in the kitchen, the living room being joint with the kitchen and dining room, and she wants to get off his couch, but it’s sinfully comfortable and she’s really god damn warm with the blanket on her.

 

A jaw cracking yawn later, she sneezes (what a combo). She hears the pit-pat of Killian’s feet across the wooden board, and then he’s towering over her and she blinks up dumbly at him.

 

“Did you enjoy your sleep, Swan?”

 

“Very,” she whispers, knowing better than to use her voice. Right now, she can only whisper her words quietly.

 

“Still tired, though?”

 

She nods and wipes the tears from her eyes because of her second yawn, and he chuckles. Before she can complain about how this is even funny, he’s bent down, brushing hair away from her forehead so he can press the back of his hand to her forehead. He sighs, and then he’s suddenly picking her up, and she whacks his chest and he elicits a little playful groan. Clearly, he doesn’t care about her refusing his help by this point.

 

It’s dark, the remainder of the walk down a hall, but he kicks a door open, and then she feels the comfort of an actual _bed_ beneath her -

 

“There, _now_ you can rest properly, not on the sodding couch.”

 

His couch is sinfully comfortable, but his bed?

 

Wow, she’s going to have to upgrade her definition of _sinfully comfortable_ now.

 

As much as she wants to deny him this, that he belongs in his own bed, she has no voice to complain, and if she does, she knows she won’t last very long before the coughs start to attack, and the last thing she needs is to make _him_ sick, too. It takes her all of her power to not cough all over him or sneeze on him.

 

His voice is quiet in her ears. “Rest well,” he wishes, and he’s out the door, only the moonlight lighting up the room through the semipermeable-looking curtains.

 

It almost feels like she could just get used to this life. The one where she has this person she can rely on, the one who she can go to when she’s having issues.

 

And maybe, just _maybe_ , she might like him a bit more than a friend. Not that she’ll ever admit that whatsoever.

 

.~.

 

“He literally had you spend your sick days at his place,” Mary Margaret says. “You still think you’re undeserving of love?”

 

“He’s being a good friend, does that equate to falling in love?” Emma crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her weight onto another leg. “Because I don’t see it that way. Sure he’s a _guy_ , but he’s a nice guy, and the last thing I need is the best thing that’s happened to me in the last decade be ruined because I had some thought about getting together with him!”

 

Mary Margaret shakes her head. “Hey - hey, I was just suggesting you should think about it. You _did_ just admit to having a thought about getting together with him, and who knows, this ‘Killian’ may like you back.”

 

“No.”

 

“Emma -”

 

“Can’t we just -”

 

“Drop the topic? Isn’t that what you _always_ want us to do when we come to the discussion about love and soulmates?” Mary Margaret interrupts, her attitude beginning to show. When Mary Margaret rear-ends with her attitude, things never end the best way. “Say he doesn’t like you in _that_ way, it doesn’t change the fact he’s been willing to be a part of your life by being a good friend, right? He doesn’t love you romantically? Okay, but I bet he’d love you as a _friend_ , and that’s still love. When will you see that you _do_ deserve love?”

 

Her head drops and she sighs, rubbing her face. It’s been two weeks since her recovery from the flu, but her ribs aren’t fully healed yet. They still hurt once in a while, but it’s better than how she first felt after being hit with a stupid wooden plank.

 

Mary Margaret does hold a fair point to Emma’s head, but Emma is Emma, and that means she is stubborn, and given the amount of foster homes and families she’d been in as a child and teenager, her hope was dwindled and dimmed, so who can really blame her for not trusting the fact that maybe she does deserve love? All of her life has been smoke clouding her vision when it comes to love and any sort of affection, whether it be familial or intimately, and none has ever ended well.

 

Every time she’s tried to open up, to try and be free to the idea, it turns against her and it’s an ending she’s seen and experienced once too many times. It’s like a part of her wants that feeling, the one where someone would want to spend the rest of their days with you, but she’s too scared to have it end the same way as it always does.

 

Maybe she’s just _stuck_.

 

Her stupid compass pointing north and her constant belief that she doesn’t deserve any love ruining her chances more than they should be ruined. It’s all in her mind, and she knows, but a matter of changing is a big deal for Emma. She hasn’t been entirely fond of change, but the last few weeks have been a change due to Killian bursting into her life and becoming one of the most reliable people she knows.

 

And considering the fact she doesn’t care about the way Killian has been introduced into her life and has been such a huge influence on her, that must mean something.

 

And that must means Mary Margaret is absolutely correct and Emma is being just a pain in the ass to deal with.

 

Emma eventually mumbles, “You have a point.”

 

“That’s right, I _do_ ,” Mary Margaret grumbles. “You - you deserve love, Emma Swan, and one day, sooner or later, you will realize it. Soulmate or not.”

 

 _One day_.

 

.~.

 

It’s about to close, but she stumbles in anyways after a day of paperwork (being stuck to her desk after the injury and recovery stage), and his head snaps up, a smile overtaking his face immediately. God damn it does she like his smile, his dopey grins, his devilish smirks. God damn it does she like the blue of his eyes and the way he wears suspenders and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up on the odd days of the week and wearing the flannel plaid shirts with those sleeves rolled up on the even days of the week.

 

There is something about Killian Jones that is different, and whether or not she’d like to admit it, she can say, that in her mind, she is very much attracted to him. Not just for his stupidly handsome (or _dashing_ , as he puts it) looks, but for his personality. He’s a smug bastard a lot of the times, but he’s a man who’s caring and kind and knows how to empathize with her because, he, like her, is very much an orphan.

 

“Swan, to what do I owe the pleasure? Coming in the thwart my work hours again?” he asks enthusiastically, slinging a towel over his shoulder.

 

It’s a Tuesday. He’s wearing the flannel plaid today with the sleeves rolled up. Oh, he’s wearing a black v-neck under it. The buttons of his flannel are essentially undone. There’s a fine line between checking out one of her good friends and checking out one of her good friends who she may have the slightest crush on. (She may or may not be crossing that line right now.)

 

“Could I get a drink?”

 

There’s the grin again, happy and giddy and _ugh_ -

 

“What’ll it be?”

 

She contemplates her choices. If she really wants to admit that she has a crush on him, then she’ll need something heavy that’ll get her inebriated enough to confess that. If not, then she just wants to have a drink then leave.

 

Neither of those seem like options seem pleasant enough.

 

Tapping her fingers on the counter, she shrugs. “Whiskey?”

 

“Ice?”

 

She shakes her head. “Nah.”

 

He nods before stepping around behind the counter like the professional he is. (She knows he is _super_ organized and hates being messy.) The whiskey bottle is on the counter in less than ten seconds and he flips an empty glass into his hand before popping the cap to the bottle of whiskey and pouring the alcohol into it.

 

For those few seconds, she just stares at the stream of tinted orange flow into the glass.

 

In another few seconds, he’s got the glass slid in front of her, and she has her fingers wrapped around it like they’ve done this a million times (maybe they have). The drink swirls beneath her eyes, and she looks at it for a good while before lifting the glass and taking a sip, feeling it slide down her throat and into her stomach. The entire time, she can feel Killian’s eyes burn into her, and she doesn’t know if she should take that as a good sign or not.

 

“So, love, I don’t reckon you came here this late for only a drink,” he says, voice lower than it was a second ago. “Are you upset over something?”

 

“Upset? No, no.” She licks the side of her lip, feeling as if there’s a bit of the drink sitting there and bothering her. “Maybe I did just come for a drink tonight.”

 

“This late?”

 

“I was running late in the first place.”

 

“Horse shite,” he boldly claims. He’s leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the counter while his fingers tap away. “We both know that you’re telling lies, Swan. Have I done something wrong that bothers you?”

 

Good _lord_ how could he possibly make that assumption?

 

(Although him being attractively good looking with a one-of-a-kind personality is the reason why she’s lying.)

 

“Look, it’s nothing - _really_ , Killian, I swear. I’m just exhausted and…” She yawns then, mucking up her entire plan. “Yeah, I’m sleepy and stressed,” she explains, deciding she’s not going to tell him tonight. Taking another drink from the glass of whiskey, she sighs after it. “Between the recovery of my ribs, sitting and nearly passing out over the boredom of paperwork, and having no real social life, it’s a real boring, but draining life.”

 

Every one of those aren’t technically lies, but she is omitting the fact that she originally came here to _maybe_ tell him of the bottled up feelings she has.

 

But she’s come to realize there’s no way she’ll be able to say it. After the amount of heartbreak she’s suffered, she knows that if she suffers one because of Killian, she really, _really_ , won’t recover from it. He is like her best friend, even if they’ve not known each other for as long as she has known Mary Margaret. Maybe that doesn’t dictate what a best friend is, maybe it’s about the things they’ve done, the information they’ve shared, the level of trust between them, the strong bond that’s connected them.

 

As much as they aren’t soulmates, she feels like they’re two mingling souls that have found a safe haven in each other.

 

She didn’t have this with Walsh, she’s realized. Walsh was...safe, but he wasn’t a safe _haven_ , he wasn’t someone she could confine herself with when she was struggling with something. Sure, he made her happy temporarily, but that temporary happiness blinded her from the other more significant things in her life. Walsh didn’t know her deepest, darkest secrets; he didn’t know of her old, broken dreams; he didn’t know the _real_ her. He knew a version of her.

 

“In that case -” he clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, “- we wake you up.”

 

“Killian,” she groans, lolling her head back before bringing it back forward. “What the hell do you think you’re gonna do? Dump a bucket of freezing, ice water over my head or something?”

 

His laughter is a rumble as he rounds the counter separating them, pushing up the entrance and exit and setting it back down slowly before locking the door and shutting off the neon lights sign outside. “No,” he finally answers when he returns. “Though I do intend to do _something_ , as you put it.”

 

“Ugh.”

 

“Don’t _‘ugh’_ me, darling, I haven’t even told you what we’re doing.”

 

“I already know you’re gonna make me sing or dance.”

 

He raises a brow, offering her a hand (which she oh so stupidly takes on instinct). His hand is warm, god, _so_ warm, and hers is freezing as usual. “Quite spot on, love.” He grins. “Dancing, that is. Unless you’d rather sing?” He leans forward and she almost thinks for a moment he’s about to kiss her. “Because I’m sure you have a lovely voice when you sing,” he murmurs closely.

 

“I’m flattered you think I can sing.” She laughs. “But I suck. Literally. At one of the new schools I was in as a kid after a transfer, I couldn’t sing when they had all of us in some choir.”

 

“I can’t see that.” One hand settles on her lower back and her breath hitches; he notices, clearly, because he smiles that breathtaking smile again, lifting his eyes up to look through her soul. “I imagine a young, innocent little girl who’s shy over her own singing voice; a loud, booming singing voice.”

 

Emma blushes and she tries to ignore the fact her cheeks must have turned a fair share of red. He laughs, connecting her hand with his left, dragging her toward the door that leads up to his room. He shuts off the lights, then, passing by the switches.

 

“There’s something I haven’t shown you, yet.”

 

Curiosity gets the best of her, and she follows along with him. There’s another set of stairs and then a ladder, and it leads up to the roof of his bar.

 

He pauses his climbing to look down at her, and she pokes at him constantly to keep moving. Eventually they he gets to the top and he pulls her up with him by the last climb she needs to make, and _wow_. It’s a lovely view from up here, even though it’s not as high as the other buildings here in Boston.

 

“It’s a hell of a climb,” he huffs, “but the sight is worth it. Don’t know why they hadn’t installed stairs instead of a ladder, but it’s exercise, I suppose.”

 

Suddenly, his hand is with hers again, their fingers tangled together and palms pressed warmly against each other’s. Her hands aren’t so cold anymore, even though there’s a chilly breeze from up top.

 

“Can I have a dance, milady?”

 

Her face is probably a look of bewilderment, she can’t tell for herself. “Up here? Without music?”

 

“Did you think I was bringing you up here for no reason?” He laughs, pulling her hand up so he can press his lips to her knuckles.

 

And that’s when she notices his compass.

 

Well, of course she’s noticed his compass plenty of times in terms of catching glances of it, but she’s never really paid _actual_ attention to it. It’s not like it’s some large tattoo in the first place, but the direction it’s pointing to, _that_ it what catches her off guard.

 

“Killian?”

 

“Aye?”

 

“Your compass.”

 

She can’t tell if her voice feels tighter, but she’s frozen as she looks at him with furrowed brows. Is...does his compass tell him _she_ is _his_ soulmate? Is that why he’s been trying to be a good friend? Has this all been a ruse to just...get together with her?

 

“Oh, yes, that.” He shrugs. “Is...is that okay, Emma? I mean...I would have told you, but you didn’t believe you deserved a soulmate, I wanted to prove you wrong,” he explains slowly, making sure his words are clear-cut so she’s actually taking in his words. (She is, really.) “You’re a strong woman, love. Beautiful, courageous, strong-headed, and I can admit, somewhat frustrating at some times, but...you’re a one-of-a-kind. Even before I knew you were my bloody soulmate, when I laid eyes on you, there was this glow hidden behind a wall, and I wanted to see that glow for myself.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Emma feels like her voice is small, like she’s shrunk and she’s lost power and she’s _completely_ at his mercy now. She has a soulmate?

 

“You told me you weren’t sure about believing in having your own soulmate, Swan. What did you want me to do, admit it straight to your face? I thought you would have known, given you have a compass on your wrist, too.”

 

She gulps, her brain still trying to register the fact that _she has a soulmate_ -

 

“No, I _wouldn’t_ have known, Killian! My compass has been broken since I could understand what the hell it was!” she yells at him, pulling away from his hold.

 

“Emma, hey, I’m sorry. Okay, love? I didn’t know, God, had I known I would have just been more honest.” He steps forward, but he’s slow, as if he’s afraid of scaring her off. “I promise that won’t happen again, should you forgive me for my wrongdoing.”

 

That look in his eyes and face tells her he isn’t lying to her, and she’d know if he’s lying because she’s always known if someone lies to her.

 

Killian isn’t. And he’s giving her a choice.

 

It takes three steps before she collides with his chest, her arms wrapping around his neck, and she’s clinging onto him for dear life because she actually _has a soulmate_ and _he’s real_ and _he’s here_. It’s taken her far too long to realize she does want love, she does deserve it, and maybe, just maybe she does deserve a soulmate. Killian Jones is a much better man than she is, but he treats her well and she likes that. She likes _him_.

 

Emma hates crying, really, she does. After all the foster families and failures in ever finding a family who would ever want her, she’d balled her eyes out and eventually just stopped having any hope and expectations so she’d not cry. But she has a fucking _soulmate_ , and once the tears start, they don’t stop.

 

Killian’s arms snake around her waist and to her back and he holds her tightly, his lips pressed to the side of her head, one hand rubbing up and down her back in a manner that is, frankly speaking, soothing as hell. She’s needed this, she’s needed someone like this in her life, and perhaps after all the pain she’s put herself through, she finally, _finally_ deserves the love and happiness she’s been lacking since...forever. As much as her compass may not point to him, his points to her, and he makes her _happy_ , so that’s it, that’s all she needs as confirmation.

 

“Am I forgiven?” he whispers.

 

She nods, sniffling, and then she groans because right, her _ribs_ , and he’s hugging her closely and tightly, yet she doesn’t care.

 

“Apologies,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on her. “But, Swan?”

 

She blinks the remainder of her tears from her eyes and looks up at him.

 

“Can I have that dance now? Under the September stars?”

 

“You can’t see the stars,” she mumbles.

 

He smiles softly at her. “It doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”

 

.~.

 

This time, waking up is more pleasant than before. She wakes up with the knowledge of knowing she has a soulmate, and she wakes up next to said soulmate.

 

He’s warm. She’s tucked against his chest, his face in her hair, arm draped over her middle, and calf stuck between her legs, and it feels so natural, as if they’ve already been doing this for a long time. But, this is their first time in bed together. They haven’t’ even _kissed_ yet, and they’re sleeping in the same bed, in his home, above his lifelong dream of opening a successful bar. Though, Emma doesn't care about that because she’s sure they'll kiss sooner or later, and that his lips are probably soft and that he’s a hell of a kisser.

 

(“It’s called a waltz, Swan. There’s only one rule - pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “It’s not like I have a choice on partners.”

 

“Oh, shut up and let me dance with you.”)

 

There is a beauty of their growing intimacy that she really loves.

 

She also may just really love him, too.

 

“Are you awake?”

 

She laughs softly.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmurs.

 

She likes this about him too. Quickly, it’s grown to be one of the best things about waking up with him; his voice. It’s lower in the morning, his accent deeper while it's coated with a sense of sleep. She feels him shift behind her, his hand searching beneath the covers to find hers, lacing their fingers together with a squeeze. He then does this thing where he forces her onto her back and he’s on top of her, hand pinned at the side of her head, looking down at her with his blue, _blue_ eyes.

 

Then there is his smile, soft and lazy. Another thing she can add onto his list about things she loves about him and mornings.

 

“Hi.” _Smooth work, Emma, smooth._

 

He quirks an eyebrow up with amusement. “Hello, love.”

 

It feels like this is a routine to them, but it’s only the beginning of many, she hopes.

 

That is when he leans down slowly, his lips nearing hers every little second, and he hovers above her, as if he’s waiting for her permission, but she lifts her head just slightly so her lips can meet his. His lips _are_ soft, but his scruff scrapes deliciously across her skin, and he sucks on her upper lip in a gentle way that makes her shudder beneath him; she definitely isn’t wrong about him being a good kisser. Their first kiss is definitely a memorable one, and Emma looks forward to many others.

 

She shamelessly chases when he pulls away, but there’s this grin split across his face like he's just won the lottery or something just as grand that’s celebratory. It doesn’t take long before he's leant down again, capturing her lips for short, little kisses that leave her wanting to stay in bed all day.

 

But he has a bar to run.

 

“Emma?”

 

“What?” she asks.

 

He smiles in return, bringing their joint hands up and she literally _gasps_ when she notices the needle of her compass move. It’s moving, it’s actually _moving_.

 

“But - what? How?” Her words stumble out of her mouth as she's dumbfounded, so speechless to see that her compass works, and it's pointing right at him.

 

Killian kisses the compass on her wrist. “You just needed to believe, Swan.”

 

.~.

 

She twists the ring around her finger over and over, but it’s not like she wants to remove it. Emma simply stares at the piece of jewelry...but it’s more than jewelry, it’s a promise, but _God_ , it’s more than a mere promise, too. There isn’t enough words in her vocabulary to describe the feelings she’s currently experiencing. Happiness is too little and pure contentment doesn’t get the message across enough.

 

“ _You_ are thinking too much for a woman who just got married a day ago.”

 

There is no need for her to turn around, just as arms wrap around her waist and a head is at her left shoulder, nose pressed against the side of her throat.

 

“I _am_ thinking too much for someone who just got married, though if you had told me I was going to be here like this, I would have laughed at your face and probably punched it, too,” she counters, leaning her head back onto his chest. “But, hello to you, too.”

 

His laughter is muffled into her hair, pressing a kiss into it and pulling her back, deeper into the bedroom of his apartment above the bar. “We are on our honeymoon,” he mumbles, “therefore any insignificant thinking must be forgotten and left to the depths of the sea as we enjoy ourselves.”

 

The dramatic way he speaks sometimes always makes her roll her eyes at him. “Yeah? Well I suppose you’re just gonna have to excuse me _once_.”

 

“Fortunately for you -” he hoists her up and she squeals like a child (a damn _child_ \- how times have changed drastically), “- I am so in love with you, you’ll always be on my list of ‘can always be excused no matter what is done’.”

 

“You sure about that because…” Emma trails off, snickering to herself as she remembers the last time she accidentally screwed up some of his laundry and ruined his favourite shirt, which resulted in him pouting and whining all day and mumbling _I’m never going to forgive you for this, Swan_. “You know...there’ve been times I’ve screwed up and you say you have to get back at me because you _couldn’t_ excuse my mistakes.”

 

When he pinches her side, she jerks up and slaps his chest playfully. Yeah, past Emma would have never guessed she would be in present Emma’s position. It seems too good-to-be-true, even though it really _is_ true.

 

None of this is a dream.

 

And even if it is a dream, she never wants to wake up from it - it’s a really, _really_ good dream.

 

So their honeymoon isn’t exactly a trip to Hawaii where the sun shines and the waves roll, it’s nothing of the luxurious, rich vacations, but the important thing, she knows, is that they’re happy - and really, they are. Emma can spend her night curled up to his side on the couch, his hand tangled in her locks of hair, half-asleep and half-awake because she doesn’t want to sleep, and she’ll be (obnoxiously, as Ruby has said) happy.

 

“I was only joking then,” he said in his own defence, pulling her down on his - _their_ \- bed with a quiet _oomph_.

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“I was!”

 

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at him before burying her nose between his shoulder and neck, into the mattress beneath them. “I’m happy, Killian.”

 

All the snarky remarks are now thrown out the window, his hand resting on her lower back, the warmth radiating from him to her. “I know, my love, I’m happy as well,” he mumbles closely to her ear.

 

Eventually, she flips around and rolls off of him, sitting up on the bed. (Still sinfully comfortable.)

 

She stares across the room at a framed photo on the dresser. Killian’s in a simple t-shirt and boxer shorts and she’s in one of his stupid oversized shirts, the morning to their first anniversary where she didn't even get to wake up properly because of her friends barging in. (Ruby and Mary Margaret insisted taking a photo after consistently yelling _she’s wearing one of his shirts, oh my God that's so cute! Take the photo!_ ) His arms are wrapped around her, a dopey grin on his face, but the moment is a memory she can so vividly remember every night before bed and every morning when she wakes up.

 

She remembers him refusing to get out of bed that morning, insisting that _it’s our bloody day, love, we’re staying in bed_. But, then again, she refused along with him so they ended up sleeping in an entire hour later than usual, and sure, Robin was down running the bar for him that morning, but apparently he didn’t care about having Mary Margaret and Ruby rush in disregarding any bit of privacy.

 

“Emma.”

 

Killian’s voice brings her out of her thoughts, rolling her head to the side to look at him. “Yeah?”

 

“You’re my wife.”

 

Emma rolls her eyes dramatically at him before laughing. He tugs her closer, bumping her nose with his.

 

.~.

 

Apparently, he refuses to stay inside all day, so they manage to head up to the roof of the bar. He’s got that one warm blanket out, and though the breeze is cool, he goes back down then returns with a beanie, slipping it over her head and kissing her temple.

 

He tells her of the many constellations, though it’s not visible whatsoever from light pollution.

 

_“You can’t see the stars,” she mumbles._

 

_He smiles softly at her. “It doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”_

 

Yes, that’s right...she can’t see the stars that surely litter the night skies, but it doesn’t mean they aren’t there - right above their heads.

 

But, right now, that doesn’t matter to her, because the only star she needs is right there behind her, his arms wrapped around her shoulders while she presses into his chest between his legs.

 

He is her north star.

 

“I wish we could see the stars,” he says quietly, his breath tickling her ear with warmth.

 

Emma grins and shakes her head curtly, yawning and leaning her head back against his shoulder, angling her head to look up at the one star that is visible, the moon. “It doesn’t mean they aren’t there,” she responds later, her voice quiet, blending in with the distant buzz of traffic below and around them.

 

“Someone remembers what I told them on a special night.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Do you remember what else we did that night?”

 

“Hmm? Oh…” she trails off for a second, remembering that they had danced the night away. “Yeah, we danced much to my chagrin and to your joy.”

 

Kilian’s laughter rumbles her from behind since she’s leaning against his chest. “Aye,” he murmurs, “what do you say about a repeat performance?”

 

Emma starts to pull away from him to escape but he has the advantage since his arms are still around her, tugging her right back into his chest until she’s laying on top of him.

 

“Oh _no_ ,” he says, “you’re not running away from me, Emma Jones.”

 

Cursing to herself, she just flips over and buries her face to his chest. “Fine,” she eventually concedes.

 

“You’re a natural anyways, love, and besides -” he stands up and pulls her up with him, dropping the blanket onto the floor, “- you’ve got a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

 

Of course.

 

He’s known what he’s been doing since day one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i've been slow with posting things. i've been so busy with school, yearbook council stuff, etc. save me


	86. colder than the darkest sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bday fic for @bisexual-killian-jones on tumblr. it's 2 days late, sue me. (also, happy once day!)
> 
>  
> 
> _this is a prequel to the original one-shot Best Chance. it is in this series of oneshots, just go back through the table of contents to chapter 61._

He hates the condition he’s in – on top of a radio tower with an injury and lack of food and water.

 

 _I suppose I’ve lived a long and prosperous life_ , one side of his mind sings.

 

The other side says, _this was meant to happen to you, you worthless prick_.

 

Slipping away from the Navy hadn’t been something hard – it was easy for him to escape the reality of his brother’s death by leaving the country after being dismissed. Then again, he only got to live another five years in peace, finding love for a year, before zombies became a new reality.

 

And yes, that’s how he ends up as this lone wolf, slowly dying on top of a radio tower, currently safe from any danger that lurks in the forests around him.

 

Perhaps not the best spot, in actuality, considering it’s almost like a landmark, something that other survivors may see. But it’s not like he’s been bitten, it’s just that he’s gotten slashed across his arm with a knife and he’s _still_ trying to stop the bleeding, though it’s not working out. Clearly.

 

He thinks about Liam, the way his smile used to always brighten up his day; the way his brotherly protective mode used to guard Killian away from the ‘evil’ of the world.

 

 _Where did the days go?_ he asks himself with closing eyes.

 

He gets no answer.

 

.~.

 

There is something between stranger and ally.

 

She is, technically, something – someone – of a strange nature and he wonders oh so casually about her and her intentions. Yet -

 

He considers her an ally, nursing him back to health slowly from his injury. Her name is Emma Swan, former police in the law enforcement from old Boston, someone along the lines with the look of an orphan, lost and stubborn and completely guarded. Something tells him – something stupid tells him – to break down her walls and get to know her, because somehow, he’s already found himself in the situation of an enamored man with a beautiful, intelligent woman -

 

During the bloody _apocalypse_.

 

He laughs to himself when he comes up with a name for her; the _Saviour_.

 

She punches him in the uninjured arm and he pouts, reasoning along the lines that she did save his life and deserves the label of the _Saviour_ , but she shakes her head and tells him to knock it off, so he does. Last thing he wants is to see her anger flare.

 

There is, however, something even more intriguing about her; the way she soldiers on as if she’s done this five millions times before, the way she walks with her chin up and a fierce look in her green eyes. But inside, he knows she’s a fragile piece of art, that she will break, given that she’s already cracked. It’s no surprise because he’s seen that look in his own reflection a dozen times before and recognizes a kindred spirit when he encounters one.

 

She is – more or less – someone like him.

 

.~.

 

She throws a rather damp towel at him which he catches, the water dripping onto his muddy combat boots.

 

“Wipe that grime off your face, you look like you got stampeded or something,” she says, taking a small sip of water from her canteen.

 

Rolling his eyes, he does as he’s told. “Or you simply prefer to see my devilishly handsome face clear of dirt and blood.”

 

“Yeah, well, exclude the _devilishly handsome_ in replace for simple hygiene.”

 

“Feisty.”

 

Emma scoffs, shoving her canteen back to where it was. “You know it.”

 

Banter is quick and easy between them, and they’ve only known each other for a week – he thinks – as they travel in a direction where he’s clueless about. Frankly, he’ll follow her and that’ll be satisfactory enough. It’s not as if he has anywhere particular he wants to go. There is no where he wants to go to, so he supposes he’ll just follow her lead.

 

At least she doesn’t behead him for this, because despite the lack of trust from before, he’s slowly starting to grow on her, he _knows_ it. And for some stupidly absurd reason, he’s proud of himself, and he doesn’t even know why. Regardless, he’s found this connection with her, as if there’s a piece of him inside of her that reflects who he is as a person.

 

“Satisfied?” he asks, tilting his head to side as he dangles the dirty cloth from his hands.

 

She turns to look at him, raising eyebrow in some sort of amusement. (He likes her.) (As in the look she makes, not...her, _her_ (that’s stupid).) “Yes, I can actually see your face properly now. I won’t confuse you for a walker or another person.”

 

“Do I look _that_ horrid for you to be able to mistake me for the undead?” He pouts at this declaration of hers, and she, once again, rolls her eyes at his response and shakes her head all while she stretches out her arms. “Just asking, Swan, considering I want to know how disgusting I’ve turned ever since the doom of humanity.”

 

Her smile pulls strings at his heart, and it’s the one that reaches her eyes. He has seen the old, steely look in her eyes before, the green frozen and solid, so focused and insistent on surviving and being vigilant. It’s a relief to see a smile that’s different from that.

 

In a world that’s dominated by the living dead – cold, deserted, and in vain, there is nothing more that could possibly brighten his day besides her smile.

 

And he wonders.

 

_How many more times can I elicit that smile?_

 

.~.

 

The road stretches before them, as if the asphalt and pavement haven’t gotten any worse to ruin their hopes in surviving. They follow the paths unknown in the forests around them, and she says they’re somewhere in the middle of Maine, though she’s not entirely sure. When he talks to her, a smart retort on his tongue to be said, he bites back on it when she looks simply drained. Something inside of him nearly jumps at the expression on her face, the slump of her shoulders, the look into the distance.

 

Against better judgement, he doesn’t ask her if she’s okay, because he knows the answer to the stupid _are you okay?_ question for every single person in the world.

 

_No. I’m not._

 

If anything, he would say that had he been asked, but if it means anything more to save _her_ from having to burden his own pain, he’d much rather say _no, but I will be_. It’s not entirely false.

 

There could be something of a worse fate, right? Something worse than the dying population?

 

Perhaps the end of the world. Like, literally.

 

He shoves the thought to the back of his head and remembers of Emma, that she’s exhausted and needs rest, that it’s cold and both of them are living off a mere sleeping bag and their leather jackets, of jeans and boots.

 

“We should stop,” he suggests.

 

“Why? We can still keep –"

 

“Emma,” he says, causing her to stop progressing any further, “you need to get rest. It’s getting dark anyways, we should set up camp for tonight. Any further and it looks like you’re going to collapse into a heap of exhaustion.” He then smirks just a little bit, something faint. “And I’m not particularly keen on having to hoist you up into my arms.”

 

She snorts. “In your dreams.”

 

They set up camp for the night, but he refuses to let her do any of the late night patrol, so he sits at the old log and watches her sleep while doing his other job, making sure no one creeps up on them, that there’s nothing to disturb them. He knows he needs rest too, but he finds himself wanting Emma to be okay – he finds himself putting her first instead. (It seems as if she hasn’t ever had that happen before, considering she had argued against him earlier.)

 

He hasn’t cared for anyone for years, and all of a sudden, this stranger comes to decide and fix him up, acts prickly at first, then becomes something like a friend, and he, magically, wants to take care of her and shield her.

 

Whether it is his second chance at least making things count, he solely believes he will do his best to be a proper reliable companion to her.

 

 _Not_ in the romantic way.

 

(Or so he tells himself, at least.)

 

.~.

 

If it’s days, he’s lost count. If it’s weeks, he doesn’t have a clue. If it’s months, he must have _really_ lost track of time.

 

There is a routine –

 

There are habits that have grown between them. In the cold days of assured safety, they press their bodies close together with only the sleeping bags being the barrier between them. In the busy, occupied days of coming across a rare wave of walkers, they fight in synchronisation as if they’ve been trained to do so since children.

 

She is the only one he ever touches, and despite the frequent body contact they make, a simple hold of a hand to help pull one up a little edge causes shivers to run down his spine. It’s been too long since he’s touched anyone other than himself.

 

When everything above them is dark, painted with gloomy skies and the heavy pitter-patter of rain, he gathers her to the closest safe place possible.

 

“Don’t want you to get sick,” he murmurs.

 

“Thanks.”

 

He almost doesn’t hear that. Just almost.

 

Then it feels like autumn has vanished and soon comes winter, and the temperatures drop like there will be no tomorrow, the days getting shorter and shorter. It’s only a stroke of luck they come across clothes that are thick enough to accommodate the lowering temperatures, both of them bundled up in decent warmth.

 

His hands are still cold; hers are no different.

 

When he comes across a pair of gloves, he knows the condition of them aren’t much and probably won’t do any good in keeping warmth in, but he looks up at Emma who’s huddled over her bag looking for something, glances back down at the gloves, and knows what he’s to do. It’s an instantaneous decision, picking the old, snow covered gloves up, before he heads over to her. When she turns around and looks at him, a furrow between her brows, he offers her the gloves.

 

Emma shakes her head, but he refuses to take no for an answer.

 

Her eyes almost show, for once, a little girl who’s less lost.

 

When he watches her slip her hands into the gloves after emptying out the remaining snow that lingers on the fabric, he smiles. Her response is a returned smile, warm and positively glowing as if she’s just received the best birthday present ever.

 

His hands feel less cold.

 

.~.

 

The first house they find has already been emptied, but there is a bed, and neither of them are against sleeping in a bed.

 

(Surprisingly, no complaints about sharing it, either.)

 

Setting up traps by each corner in the room makes it safer, and boarding all the windows makes it even better. They’ve come across no one lasting on their journey, and to the ones who they’ve encountered, they’re most likely dead considering they’ve tried to either kill him or her. Or both of them.

 

They’ve been together for so long on this never-ending journey, they’ve grown comfortable of each other to the point where sharing a bed for one night or cuddling up close for warmth in the middle of a forest during the cold doesn’t bother them anymore. He keeps his .22 magnum beneath the makeshift pillow he’s made from the use of his sleeping bag. His hand never leaves that gun because he fears worse than anything for something horrible to happen to them while they finally get the rest they’ve been needing for these last few long days.

 

The dread settles in for the night.

 

By morning, he’s relieved to know nothing has come close to finding them, and he tries not to make the way he finds himself waking up anymore more than it needs to be.

 

(Her hand clutching his shirt in a fist and her eyes clenched shut as if she refuses to believe something, makes him think about the things she’s seen before finding him.)

 

Instead of leaving like they maybe should be doing, they stay for a few more days. And a few more days entails more than he expects, but it’s not that he objects the idea.

 

Neither of them speak of their past – it’s something every hardly mentioned – it’s something of a bitter subject that leaves them in a dark mood, but it appears as if the bridge has finally been crossed on one particular night, staring up at the ceiling in the dark, old room while the snow begins to melt outside before the next wave of a white storm.

 

“I would have expected you to have left me by now, you know.”

 

“And why’s that?”

 

Silence ensues, but the bed quietly creaks beneath her movement and the cover of her jacket makes that ruffling noise before she huffs a short breath. “Everyone left before.”

 

“I’m not everyone,” he whispers with confidence.

 

“You aren’t,” she replies in agreement.

 

And suddenly they’re holding hands, and he doesn’t even think anything of it until she properly laces their fingers through each other, and she’s touched his heart in a way he didn’t think would be possible.

 

His first instinct is a form of reassurance, so he squeezes her hand. “We’ll make it.”

 

“We’ll make it where?” Emma asks, turning onto her side.

 

“I don’t know, love, but we’ll make it,” he promises, turning onto his side, bringing their joined hands up, and brushing his lips over her bruised knuckles. “Wherever it is, we’ll make it.”

 

For the first time in his life, he sees that lost girl open up to him completely, and though he is limited on exploring any depths of what she thinks about in her own mind, he already knows what she is thinking. There is no doubt in him with knowing about the unspoken and unbreakable bond they hold, but tonight is one of those nights where the dam has been broken and the water is beginning to flow.

 

Their conversations progresses with ease, but the topics they indulge in are more emotionally draining than anything they’ve ever discussed before. He speaks of his brother’s death, his father's abandonment, and his mother’s passing due to sickness; she speaks of being abandoned as a baby on the road, transferring through so many foster families and homes she can’t count them, and an asshole boyfriend who left her with little to nothing after disappearing off to the middle of nowhere.

 

He leaves one bit of information out, which is, perhaps, the next most painful thing next to his brother’s death. Having to kill Milah because she had been infected early on.

 

That is a topic for another day and not a memory he’d like to revisit.

 

She is – more or less – someone like him.

 

Lost, frightened, and craving a form of love and belonging.

 

They give that to each other.

 

.~.

 

Nightmares are part of the inevitable. They live in a world that is collapsing. He knows that, he is aware, but he has the faith that whatever remaining power is left, will help with ridding this world of such a virus and its spread. Emma knows it very well too, she is quite knowledgeable on her news here, but she isn’t as strong as she makes herself seem she is.

 

Perhaps it’s the way she regards herself now, but he knows her better than anyone else does, probably better than herself. He sees bits and pieces of Killian Jones scattered inside of her – he understands her pain. Now that he knows of her past, the history that makes her, her, he is more aware of the looks on her face or the looks in her eyes, and he knows, well enough, that she doesn’t sleep well during some nights.

 

He can kiss her forehead and wish her a good night’s rest, but she will not rest, and he begs to the deities that can listen to him, to give her a peaceful slumber at least once.

 

For someone who believes they are already broken beyond repair, he wants her to see otherwise because he sees someone who doesn’t need to be repaired, he sees someone who’s been hurt, but has stood back up and lived.

 

But when one doesn’t believe in themselves, it makes things a tad bit more difficult.

 

His immediate instinct now is to reach over and wrap his arm around her waist until he can pull her closely and press his lips into her hair. They’ve only done this a few times, but it feels natural to him, and according to the way she often responds by pressing her back against his chest, he can assume it feels natural to her, too.

 

It’s just another night as he pulls her in subconsciously, but he wakes up when he finds her struggling to sleep in one position. He hasn’t had many nightmares of recent, but she has.

 

“Emma,” he murmurs, shaking her gently, his hand on her shoulder. “Emma, wake up.”

 

Her eyes slowly blink open, the green orbs full of fear all over again. His heart aches for her.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t apologize,” he says quietly, pulling her in closely.

 

Emma’s face presses into his chest, her hands bunched up into fists loosely against his shirt. “Stupid nightmares,” she grumbles against him; he chuckles and drops a kiss into her hair, rubbing his hand up and down her back gently. “Do we have to leave tomorrow?”

 

“Aye, Swan, we cannot stay here for too long – it’s far too open, we’re vulnerable to attacks.”

 

With a sigh, she nods. “Right.”

 

Killian is just as disappointed as she is. He’d die for some more quiet moments of bliss without having to worry about the world outside.

 

.~.

 

They take apart the little traps they’ve set and carefully shove them back into their bags in case they ever need to use them again. It’s better to keep them instead of leave them, and besides, he’s picky with conserving things, just as she is sometimes.

 

Leaving behind the house is harder than he originally thought. It marks the beginning of their relationship, something beyond a simple platonic friendship, not that he doesn’t value the fact they started off like that.

 

He refuses to put down his own gun, so he holds her hand in one while he holds the firearm in the other, his finger always wrapped around the trigger but never tight enough to actually pull on it to fire. That’d be a stupid mistake he’d have to live with, attracting all the nearby walkers or survivors to their location. That’d be risking his life, but more importantly, Emma’s.

 

When night falls, they alternate taking turns with sleep and guarding. But it’s fair to conclude neither of them get as much sleep as they want to, though they do get just enough to keep moving on the minute it’s dawn.

 

Peace comes easily for them, but not for long.

 

It’s a literal _wave_ of the zombies coming their way, and if they run, they’re only running back to the one place where they felt safe for a temporary amount of time. None of it works that way, they can risk their possible temporary safe haven to be run down by walkers because they decided not to fight. No, they will fight – he’s going to fight, to make his way through this battle and live.

 

At first, he had no purpose, no meaning to fight for. He would have died up on that radio tower…but he didn’t because he’s here with his Swan, the woman he’s slowly fallen in love with (or rather quickly, if he’s being brutally honest, of course), who saved his life and decided to deal with his horrible sense of humour and endless amounts of teasing.

 

The closer the horde of the walking dead gets, the more unbearable the smell becomes, the nasty reeking smell of blood and, oddly enough, brains and intestines.

 

Luckily, Emma is standing right next to him with her own weapon in hand while she unpredictably takes his right hand in her left and squeezes it briefly. He notes that she is shaking in fear, something he’s hardly ever witnessed before with their confrontations with zombies. However, he is not surprised. There must be at least a hundred of them, unfortunately for them, much more than what they’ve encountered before during their travels.

 

Definitely a sight to behold with their torn clothes and ripped skin, the dislocation of bones and other body parts, the missing organs and the horrid, blind stare.

 

“We’ll make it,” he whispers.

 

“How?”

 

He turns to her, jerking his head to the side and smiling at her despite what they’re about to go through. “Trust me.”

 

Emma rolls her eyes, promptly heaving a deep breath before nodding. “We got this.”

 

“That we do.”

 

That’s how it all begins, the weaving in and out, crouching down and jumping over bodies while swinging and hacking their handheld combat weapons.

 

Earlier, Killian switched to the relatively long dagger – better safe than sorry to use a gun and attract more attention.

 

The sounds are honest to God – disgusting. He has murdered plenty of the already dead, yet he’s not used to the inevitable drop of the entire body or the squish of decomposing organs when he stabs into the walker or steps on one.

 

He is used to the splatter of blood on his face and his clothes, used to his hands being just as grimy and gross as if he decided to bath himself in mud and dirt. When he looks over to his right for Emma, he trips, much to his demise, being grabbed by the leg and weighed down by the bag he’s carrying. It takes him a fair bit of struggle to swipe the arms off of the zombie as they drop hopelessly to the ground, pushing himself up and running, heart racing as if he’d nearly fallen off the edge of a cliff on accident expecting his own inevitable death.

 

Emma is close behind him, as they’ve always been close when they fight for obvious reasons, but he’s limping from the grip earlier, and she’s got this look on her face that clearly is of disgust or something of the sorts, but Killian figures she’s fine and that they just hardly got out of a dangerous situation.

 

They get further and further into the forest. Killian looks around every direction to make sure they’re finally clear and can settle and rest for a bit. Take a quick sip of water and recuperate the energy they just lost.

 

He looks over at her and smiles painfully, his breaths still coming out short from all the running.

 

She smiles, but there is something wrong.

 

.~.

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t know,” she responds, distress written all over her face. “Look, I just…”

 

“Emma you just -” he stops himself, rubbing his forehead and trying to wrap his head around the fact she may be bitten, that she may just be somehow infected, that she may just turn into one of… _those_. “Emma, are you _sure_?”

 

She shakes her head, fists at her sides. “No – no, I wasn’t _bitten_ , I was…I don’t know, I think its shit might’ve brushed against the cut on my other hand,” she tries to explain, raising her left hand up. “Bites aren’t the only thing that can infect people, Killian, this – this is serious.”

 

And here comes the panic.

 

He may have put Milah down, but he honestly doesn’t think he’ll be able to do the same with Emma if it comes to that.

 

(Killian has no answer to why he can’t do if it he could to Milah. Just the thought makes the bile rise in his throat.)

 

“I know,” he says, lifting his head up and looking at her, “I guess we won’t find out unless you get a fever.”

 

The look she gives him breaks him.

 

 

.~.

 

The same night, he sits across from her and watches her. There’s nothing much to watch except the way she stares at her hand, her eyes reflecting fear and worry all while she’s trying to keep her own composure up, and he knows she’s trying to be strong, even though everything she tries against him doesn’t work since he sees right past it.

 

They go through most of the night decently until she looks at him and shakes her head. “I think I’m getting that fever.”

 

Killian squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his jaw firmly, wishing he could scream at the top of his lungs until he lost his voice.

 

Perhaps hope is gone.

 

.~.

 

He wants to touch her, he wants to reassure her everything will be okay, but he can’t do that, not when she may just become a zombie before his eyes.

 

And she refuses to let him get close, knowing it can infect him, too.

 

But Killian _aches_ to reach for her, finding that his hand twitches closely before he pulls away, an instinct as a habit, unable to do as he wants to. All Killian can do is watch – he watches Emma’s curled up form on the ground. He doesn’t want to just watch, but there’s nothing in his power to save her; there is no antidote to the infection, and even if there is, there’s no way he can get it in hours’ time. They are helpless.

 

He is simply going to witness another transformation –

 

“Killian?”

 

He looks over at her, but her back is still turned to him, curled up like a small girl scared of what’s to come. (He doesn’t blame her there.) “Aye?”

 

“You need to kill me when the time comes,” she says.

 

“No.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I can’t.” There is one tear which he is grateful she doesn’t see with her back turned which he immediately wipes away. He swallows. “I can’t.”

 

.~.

 

_Why did I agree to this?_

 

He lifts his .22 magnum to Emma’s head, one hand that suffers extreme shaking while the other tries to support it. Even then, his hands are shaking, but his aim can’t be off when he’s this close, however he doesn’t want to do this, he doesn’t want to kill the woman he loves.

 

_Why did I agree to this?_

 

Emma looks at him with pleading eyes. She has been coughing viciously for the past half an hour, all while she complains weakly that everything in her body feels like shit.

 

_Why did I agree to this?_

 

The question simply repeats in his head as he stares at Emma, holding back his own tears while needing to shoot the God damn bullet through her brain.

 

“Do it,” she whispers, “for me. For you.”

 

Killian stands there, the world around him fading into white as he simply sees his own hand, the pistol, and Emma sitting on the floor in front of him. And Emma burns brightly, bright like the sun because she _is_ the sun to him, and _God fucking damn it_ he can’t do it, he can’t pull the trigger and shoot her. She can beg and plead and _cry_ all she wants, but he can’t give in, he’d rather waste a bullet and shoot toward the clouds than put a bullet through her brain and watch the colour drain from her face and the life fade from her eyes.

 

“I can’t do it,” he states as he lowers his arms.

 

“ _Why_?” Emma asks in bewilderment, confusion written over her face.

 

“There’s something that night we shared our pasts that I didn’t tell you,” Killian begins, gulping away the lump in his throat and failing miserably. “I had to put down my long-time girlfriend when this bloody nightmare started,” he explains, his voice visibly shaking, “and I thought – perhaps _that_ was bad – and then you tell me to shoot you and, and I can’t, Swan, I _can’t_.”

 

Emma coughs, furrowing her brows. “But I’m not your long-time girlfriend.”

 

“You’re right.” He laughs bitterly, words having to come out in a way he never wanted it to. “But I still love you. I still love you, Emma, and I’d rather turn _with_ you than put you down like how I did with Milah.”

 

.~.

 

He’s grateful for every day that he never shot her. It turns out she caught a fever coincidentally during a bad time, but not because of an infection. Her fever lasted longer than a typical point for it to turn her into a zombie.

 

In any case, Killian did confess his love to her that day, but she hasn’t so much avoided him or anything. But then again, there aren’t any possibilities to avoid him given they are traveling together.

 

Instead, she’s just chosen to accept it, and he’s awfully surprised about that.

 

Or perhaps she’s acting really well like she’s accepted the fact that he loves her and just simply won’t mention or discuss about it. Whatever, the point is that she is alive and perfectly fine. If he had shot her, he wouldn’t have forgiven himself for what he had done. God, he’s so glad he never pulled on that trigger.

 

She only talks when she needs to, but that doesn’t worry him so much considering she still holds onto his hand like he is her lifeline. Killian would wait all the days for her to talk to him if need be (hopefully it doesn’t actually come to that), and he never lets go because letting go is a stupid mistake he’s not willing to make.

 

Sure, she may not say _I love you_ , but he doesn’t need her to. The beauty of understanding each other is enough for him to know that _I love you_ is implied in the way she holds his hand. It also means _I trust you_ and _I believe you_ and that’s all Killian needs from her.

 

.~.

 

Winter keeps on going, the days ending and beginning slowly, but there is less light outside as the days seemingly become shorter. This drastically affects the amount of time for traveling, but they manage it anyways.

 

The cold bites at his fingers but he doesn’t complain much, not when it’s something that is of little matter. Emma’s hand warmth is enough for him.

 

“Where are we even going?”

 

He shrugs, glancing at her before turning back toward the path they’re been following for the past few hours. “I don’t think there’s much of a choice to _where_ we go since neither of us have specific destinations, love. If we made it to some sort of safe haven, no doubt they’d want to keep us in quarantine forever or kill us.”

 

She sighs, leaning her head on his shoulder a little. “I’m fucking tired, Killian.”

 

“Physically, or just tired of everything?”

 

“Tired of everything,” she murmurs. “It’s funny how one moment you think an outbreak like this is only possible in fiction, and then the next moment it becomes reality.”

 

Killian turns his head and dips just slightly to press a kiss to the side of her head, responding with a quiet, “I know.”

 

.~.

 

They run into an empty gas station which he decides to take refuge in for a night, just as she.

 

She makes sure all possible entrances are blocked of entry so they’re the only ones who can enter and leave, though they’ve been traveling alone for days, so neither of them exactly expect much company, even overnight. “Job’s done,” she huffs, plopping down onto the ground behind the counter and leaning onto the wall behind her.

 

He grunts of acknowledgement, pulling out the sleeping bags from both of their backpacks so they can get settled. The more sleep they can pack in, the better.

 

Finally, he’s managed to lay out both of their sleeping bags and the rugged blankets. It’s extremely dark since every window is covered up, but he can still make out the figure of Emma climbing into her bag. He does the same, and both of them do need the sleep. He constantly has to insist she needs it more, but she tends to not listen to him much anyways, given that she’s always been so stubborn, even since he met her. Or she met him, to be precise.

 

What he doesn’t expect is for them to _not_ sleep like this.

 

And it’s not the – not going to sleep because of a valid reason…

 

Well, perhaps it can pass for a valid reason.

 

Emma grabs a handful of his shirt and hauls him to her and he widens his eyes in response, blinking a few times. She’s being quite direct with her attempts here, but kissing her is like kissing a goddess, and _damn_ , it’s good – it’s…satisfying and fulfilling. Much more heated than he anticipated, but he’s not exactly complaining about that.

 

Sex shouldn’t even be an option for either of them, not during the damn apocalypse, but Killian can tell she has other plans and she’s doing a hell of a job in convincing him.

 

Their sleeping bags unzip quite quickly.

 

Killian’s hands roam, wrapping around her back, settling at her waist, even to her ass and giving it a squeeze, before he moves it back up to a more decent location. When he glides his tongue across her lips, it elicits a wonderful moan from her which he swallows down.

 

He’s often the responsible one, not that she _isn’t_ , but he should be stopping her – _this_ – except he’s not.

 

He’s angry, angry at the world, at the spread of this disease, at him not having found Emma before everything happened because now he’s left to spend his – God-knows-how-long – moments with her while everyone decapitates into the literal living dead. Perhaps finding Emma before all this would have meant the role reversal of her and Milah, and that isn’t the most pleasant thought to have.

 

“Bloody _fuck_ ,” he growls when she presses her hand against the bulge in his pants. “Swan, do you know what you’re doing?”

 

“Yes,” she breathes against his lips, her other hand resting on his chest. “Don’t you want this, too?”

 

He should say no.

 

“Aye.”

 

“Good. Nice to know this isn’t a one-sided relationship.”

 

Killian rolls his eyes, plunging in for another kiss, all while he’s somewhat alert enough to know she’s unbuckling his belt with one hand while still maintaining their heated, passionate, kiss.

 

Whatever reason Emma has for wanting this now, he won’t blame her. They finally have a somewhat safe place to lay their head to rest, but they’ve not taken many steps in their relationship since that night back in the old house.

 

He supposes having sex on two sleeping bags with one large blanket that covers them both isn’t the _worst_ set-up ever.

 

But there is some sort of desperation of which he notices, the way she unbuttons and unzips his jeans, shoving them down his legs, her hand brushing against his cock underneath the simple layer of a pair of boxer briefs. Killian groans, his hand finding the hem of her shirt and slipping beneath the fabric to her bare skin, warm and soft; despite all that soft skin, he knows she is hardened beneath much like a rock – trying to remain as invulnerable to pain and loss.

 

Sometimes, he is frightened by the similarities they share. Frightened that one day, he will lose her when she has already crawled beneath his own skin and to his heart, living in one of those chambers. And when she is gone, so is a part of his heart.

 

He is a survivor, but _that_ is something he doesn’t think he can exactly survive. Well, he knows he can’t survive if she’s gone.

 

It’ll be worse than his time getting over Milah, having to see her dead because he had to shoot her himself.

 

Simply put – he has an indescribable bond with Emma, and he doesn’t wish to ever break it. Be it distance or death.

 

He can sense she is thinking as much as he is, despite the fact they’re literally about to _do_ it.

 

His fingers reach the back of the bra, unhooking it before he trails his hand to push the straps off for himself. Her inhaled sharp breath after he cups one of her breasts is a priceless noise, something he will cherish. This moment, this part of his life, is something he’ll cherish.

 

(He can believe this is sex and not making love, but he’s absolutely _certain_ there’s more to it than sex.)

 

By the time all the foreplay is over and they’ve moved on, he’s probably thought about thirty different things while simultaneously being enraptured by Emma’s touches and moans. And he knows he has to be careful because this is unprotected sex and the last thing they need is a baby on the way in the middle of an apocalypse. The prospect of children may have been nice a few years ago, but now it makes his stomach flip and his mind swirl like a hurricane out of control.

 

If, by any slim chance, humanity is to be reborn and life goes back to normal, then perhaps children isn’t so bad. He wouldn’t mind having a wee lass or lad running around the house wanting to be a pirate or princess. He wouldn’t mind the irregular hours of sleep or unnecessary amount of worrying because it’s the first day of school. At the moment, he’s absolutely pissed at himself for having not experienced a family life like that.

 

The closest he does have to family is Emma – it explains why he has to cling onto her while they both let out ragged, short breaths, all why she bites into his shoulder to stop herself from crying out (his name, in all hopes).

 

It’s the flutter of her walls around him that causes his response to pull out and groan. Killian is honestly surprised he even managed to do that fast enough.

 

For a few seconds, he stays there, absolutely silent in the gas station except the panting. He stares at the dark ceiling, pulling the blanket up higher so it covers the both of them decently. “That was brilliant, though I don’t think I would have ever predicted for it to happen,” he says quietly while she has her eyes closed.

 

“I just – we’re running out of time. I needed to experience it at least once with you,” Emma ultimately reasons, turning onto her side after slipping inside her sleeping bag and looking at him; he can make out the features of her face, the green of her eyes and the dent in her chin, even the apple of her cheeks.

 

“We still have all the time in the world,” he promises – though she probably won’t ever believe that, he’s aware (he doesn’t believe his own words, either). “Get some rest.”

 

“You, too.”

 

He huffs a breath, managing to lift his lips into a small smile. “I will.”

 

And though he’s sweaty and exhausted, feeling the fatigue reach his bones and the blood buzz in his ears obnoxiously, he still dares to dream of a happy, domestic life with the one-and-only, Emma Swan.

 

.~.

 

Winter sucks.

 

Killian used to always look forward to the snow. He looked forward to the white covering the edge of his window or the white that piled up on the side of the sidewalks, but now he despises it terribly, slowing down their travels.

 

He used to run outside when it started snowing with Liam on the rare day it happened to actually snow in London, England. Now there’s all the snow in the world, except –

 

His brother is dead and he is no longer a child who desires to play and have fun. He is a man with a woman he loves and wants to protect after failing to do so the first time. He is a man who has been hardened and rough around the edges despite giving off an ignorant and cocky demeanor – too much loss from his own life to really ever think about playing in the snow anymore.

 

They settle for a little spot in the forest for a few moments break. Instead of eating separate cans of food or bars of granola bars they have found, they often share their meals equally to conserve whatever they have. Surviving through the apocalypse does that – there’s many lessons that come out of it, except this isn’t harmless survival lessons in a safe classroom, this is surviving so you don’t actually _die_ in the real world.

 

“Do you like the snow?”

 

He picks up a pinch of the white snow off the ground. It melts quickly. “I used to.”

 

Emma sighs, leaning against a tree. “I liked it as a kid,” she begins slowly, “but then I hated it because of traffic. I hated it because I had to deal with hundreds of car accidents over the course of my police work days.” He expects her to stop there, but she doesn’t. “I mean, it’s not so bad now.”

 

“Except it’s bloody fucking cold.”

 

“Hey, that’s winter’s fault, not the snow.”

 

“Snow is cold.”

 

“Oh, stop being such a baby,” Emma comments, kicking at the snow with a foot. “Cherish it while it lasts, Killian. Who knows when one day snow will be gone, just like a lot of other things.”

 

Fair point, he supposes, and he knows exactly what she means. When it’s gone, it won’t come back.

 

(Unless, there’s some godly miracle.)

 

(Not that some godly miracle can bring back Liam.

 

Or even Milah, in that case.)

 

He’s shaken out of his thoughts when he feels the impact of snow hit him.

 

Despite his dislike for the weather, he grins at Emma who has a challenging smirk on her face. “Game on, love.”

 

 

.~.

 

Winter finally ending is indeed a good thing, but the negative is that they’re running out of food and water.

 

That’s a dilemma they need to solve, so they go on to rummage for food and search for any possible fresh clean water for them to restock their canteens on.

 

Continuing on isn’t an issue, only that they’re tired now.

 

They’ve been searching for a safe haven to retire to for hours, only to be rewarded with an emptied, broken down car, and their own weary bones.

 

“Fuck,” she mutters, “we’ve got company.”

 

It first starts with two men who threaten them, which of course, they take down easily with both of their on spot aiming with the decent cover of the cars metallic exterior. Her being a previous police officer and him being a previous navy lieutenant gave them both enough training to hit bulls eye without much of a struggle. But neither of them can silence their shots on such a clear day, which means the walkers get attracted.

 

“They’re coming from your right, four o’clock, Killian,” she states.

 

“Bloody hell, that’s a huge wave of them.” He readies his pistols, making sure they’re loaded with ammo (which that at least they have plenty of surprisingly), keeping it at arm's length, pointing at the zombies slowly dragging along. “Should we run?”

 

“No.”

 

“Swan -”

 

“They’ll follow – we’re low on food, we can’t make it that far without them getting to us again. Loot those two bodies for any ammo or weapons, now,” she demands strictly, hew jaw firm.

 

He sighs and does as he’s told, quickly confirming their deaths (good headshots, he can at least say), finding a hatchet and dagger, two canteens of fresh (well, fresher) water, three cans of food, and a rifle.

 

“Killian, hurry the hell up!”

 

Quickly, he puts all the food into his bag and replaces one of his pistols with a hatchet in hand before snapping his head up to see her shooting down the closest approaching ones. “Sorry, love,” he grumbles, getting to her side (damn melee weapons considerably slows him down a bit), handing her the dagger and bringing his hand in pistol up, clenching his jaw and aiming.

 

It goes on for a few more moments, circumstances not improving.

 

“Go,” she eventually huffs, “run.”

 

“Emma,” he begs, “I can’t leave you.”

 

“You have to. Please. I’ll hold them off and follow.”

 

“Swan -”

 

She cuts him off with a quick kiss, too fast and desperate. “Go! I’ll be right behind you!”

 

So with one final look at the woman he’s grown to love, he purses his lips, closes his eyes, trying to just...just fucking _memorize_ her every bit, and runs.

  
He hates himself the moment he realizes she’s not behind him.

 

.~.

 

It’s traveling backwards for him.

 

He ends up finding the old cabin they first rested in, the bed still intact, everything seemingly untouched just as they originally left it in the first place. By walking in, he inhales a sharp breath, remembering the intimate moments they’d shared in bed that night – discussing their lonely pasts.

 

(Surprisingly by finding this cabin again, they never traveled as far as he thought they did.)

 

Killian stares at the empty bed, dropping his bag which falls right next to his feet. Somehow, he trudges his feet a few steps before sinking onto the old mattress, dust flying around him, leaving him with the urge to sneeze.

 

For a moment when he closes his eyes, he remembers holding Emma closely.

 

For that brief moment, he wishes Emma were next to him now. He’s lost the will to wander and travel – he makes the decision to just stay in this house with the hopes that nothing will come his way. He will dream of green eyes and blonde hair, a flashing smile that makes him grin, and the life he _could_ have had with her if he never abandoned her in the first place because of her pleading for him to escape.

 

She could be dead for all he knows, and it’s his fault.

 

The weather may be finally warming up, but he feels colder than if he were to drown in the darkest depths of the sea.

 

_Are you alive, Emma?_


	87. it's cold inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is for my captain swan net secret santa @captain-k-jones! 
> 
> a mix between two prompts: ‘our power went out and it’s freezing, come over’ au and ‘we keep ending up at each other’s places because we’re both kind of alone on christmas but with each other we aren’t lonely’ au

It’s not so much as a tradition with an entire family gathering around the Christmas tree and burning fire, but he’s the closest to family she’s got and she doesn’t dare have it any other way. It’s because of him that they spend the holidays together, curled up on the couch in her apartment watching Christmas classics, both of them nursing a hot cocoa with cinnamon and some sort of Chinese takeout boxes scattered about on the coffee table.

 

And no,  _no_ , they’re not dating, engaged, or married.

 

They’re friends.

 

Best friends.

 

Just because she spends time with her best friend on the holidays doesn’t qualify as anything beyond a platonic friendship, but it’s clear that other people believe otherwise (cough cough  _Ruby_ , cough cough). He has no family left to spend the holidays with, just like her, so of course by putting both together, they can at least spend some time to feel less lonely.

 

Or at least,  _she_ can spend some time with him and feel a little ( _whole_ ) less lonely on a holiday meant to be spent with a family.

 

&&.

 

It’s not Christmas yet, but it’s getting there. The week of Christmas is essentially the same thing to them anyways.

 

Lights shining bright, insane last minute shopping, the same old, same old.

 

_Killian: happy holidays, swan_

 

She looks at the text message that pops up on her screen, a stupid smile on her face. Of course he’d message her that.

 

_Emma: you’re a little early, jones_

 

In fact, she can full-fledged imagine his face if she said that to him in person. Something like an unamused look, a raised eyebrow and pursed lips. The fact that she can recite that expression off the top of her head is a little concerning to her now…

Oh well, she’s just being paranoid about her feelings, is all.

 

(Or the  _lack_ of feelings towards him, as she’d excuse herself.)

 

The screen of her phone lighting up distracts her from her unrequired thoughts of emotions. Emma chuckles in disbelief at what he sends her, but really, she should have expected it to be frank.

 

_Killian: :(_

 

&&.

 

It’s Christmas Eve and he’s supposed to come over, except there’s a big change of plans. Her power goes out an hour before he plans to come, so there’s no lighting, no heat, no television, and definitely no way to make herself a hot cocoa, so she has to go over to Killian’s place to do the usual routine, even though it’s breaking the routine because she’s going over to his apartment, and that isn’t the tradition they’ve established within the last three years.

 

Though, they’ve known each other for four.

 

Excuse her for shoving her bag full of clothes because she knows she won’t be returning until morning, especially if her heat is out because she cannot sleep in the cold, no matter how many times she’s done that before as a teenager out living on the streets.

 

 _God_ , those memories are not pleasant at all. She’s glad she picked herself up in time so she didn’t have to go through it again.

 

Emma depends on the heat in her bug as she drives her way over to Killian’s apartment, a slow ride because of the snow and traffic (technically she could walk) - and yes, she changed her tires already to fit the weather.

 

It’s passing by the fancy Christmas lights hanging up outside shops and the snow falling that makes her wish she could’ve had a nice Christmas as a kid. Most of her foster families hardly bothered to get her a gift, let alone acknowledge her in the first place. She used to love the snow and the hype for the holidays, except for a woman like her who’s been through (plenty) enough, she’s really not as interested anymore. It’s spending some time with her best friend that can accommodate for her lack of desire to celebrate Christmas, and perhaps he just makes her holidays just a little bit better.

 

She used to be told no on so many occasions when she wanted a gift, just  _one_ gift. Eventually, taking _no_ as an answer just became the norm for her. It’s now where she’s always reluctant on receiving gifts because of the amount of denials she’s experienced before.

 

Christmas just isn’t her thing.

 

_“It’s never too early to celebrate, love.”_

 

_She shoves him aside playfully, trying to tune out his endless singing of Christmas songs, despite his magical voice which really makes her admire the lyrics a bit more, only because Emma does appreciate his tone when he sings. “Hmph,” she huffs as turns the key of her door until she hears the click. Never a better way to annoy him by not addressing or giving attention to him._

 

_Killian’s been singing these songs for the past two weeks, actually, and she keeps telling him she wants him to stop - except she actually doesn’t._

 

_“I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need. I don’t care about the presents,” he sings, trailing in behind her, “underneath the Christmas tree -”_

 

_“Are you going to sing the entire song to me?” Emma asks. “Is this a private concert?”_

 

_“Yes, and yes…I mean, I am in your apartment and you’re my only company.” He grins cheekily, pulling his beanie off his head and running his hand through his hair. “Now, may I continue since you rudely interrupted me a moment earlier?”_

 

Such a memory is still fond her mind, taking a turn to the right before she parks in his apartment’s parking lot, turning the engine off before grabbing her bag from the passenger’s seat and then exiting her car. As she hits the button to lock her car up, she remembers she forgot the present she got for him, cursing mentally to herself before supposing she can get it later.

A gift is still a gift, anyways, no matter what day it’s given on.

 

Emma buzzes in and the light turns green immediately - not that she’s really surprised. By the time she’s standing in front of his door and about to knock, her hand freezes in mid-air and she blinks at him who’s swung the door open, seeing that he’s been waiting for her the entire time (she’s not quite sure if this is considerate of him or stalker-ish).

 

Killian is in sweatpants and a sweater (thank God it’s not the ugly Christmas sweater he wore last year).

 

“Am I supposed to keep you company as you stand out in the hallway?” he asks, raising his eyebrow.

 

Ah, right, of course he’s going to sass her now. Emma being Emma, rolls her eyes and steps inside, pushing right past his shoulder as his chuckle echoes in her ears. She kicks her boots off, remembering he’s a total neatfreak…or perhaps, well, someone who just likes his stuff organized in a specific way. He likes the shoes to be aligned properly against the wall, so she takes the initiative to make sure her boots are set in the right spot that won’t bother him.

 

“It’s nice to have some warmth,” Emma says, shrugging her jacket off and setting it down on one of his dining chairs. “Even though my car has heat.”

 

“Oh,  _that_ monstrosity has heat?”

 

“Hey, my bug is not a monstrosity, Jones.”

 

“Right…whatever you say, love,” he says, totally brushing off whatever counter remark she can make. He turns to her and smirks. “Perhaps there’s another way we can keep warm?”

 

At this point, she can’t tell if he’s insinuating something or if he’s just trying to make her think he’s insinuating something and say something completely opposite to what she’s expecting. “Hot cocoa?”

 

He chuckles but doesn’t answer her.

 

_Damn it, Jones._

 

&&.

 

Both nursing a hot cocoa with cinnamon by the end of the night is her type of holiday celebration.

 

“Swan,” he says, “I got you a gift this year.”

 

“Not a scarf again, is it?”

 

“Hey, you  _like_ that scarf.”

 

She blushes, cursing herself for even thinking about how he’s complimented her a handful of times. “Okay, well, what is it?”

 

“I’m not telling you,” Killian states as he stands up, setting his half-full mug down on the coffee table before he retreats down the hallway to his bedroom and back. “You’ll have to see for yourself.”

 

He holds out a nicely wrapped box and she almost doesn’t  _want_ to rip it apart, but she also does because he’s never gone for a tiny-sized present like this before. “I forgot my gift for you back at my place.” She takes the gift from his hand, fingers brushing his which triggers a little jittery feeling in the pit of her stomach. “I was sort of in a rush to get out of the cold of no heat and power.”

 

“That’s alright.” His smile is bright but soft, and she wants to just -

 

“I’ll go back and get it.”

 

“No -”

 

“I’m going to go get it, Killian, and you can’t stop me.”

 

When she grabs her jacket and slips her feet back into her boots, her keys jingling in her hands, he shouts, “But you didn’t open your gift yet!”

 

She’ll open it when she gets back with his gift. It’s only a fair exchange.

 

(Not because she feels guilty for letting her best friend down…nope, of course not.)

 

(And it’s definitely  _not_ because she may have an actual crush over him.)

 

&&.

 

To be fair, she doesn’t live that far away from him, so she decides to run her way back to her apartment instead of driving through traffic and snow. She may be a little sweaty and out of breath by the time she gets back to her out-of-power apartment, but at least she’s able to return with his gift which is - size wise - much larger than the little one she’s getting from him.

 

This time, she walks back because she knows there’s a chance of breaking his gift since it’s relatively fragile, but hopefully he’ll get the sentiment out of it anyways, regardless of the material it’s made out of.

 

(She’s been saving money up for his gift since she got herself a raise at her job, knowing he’s been looking into that antique shop for ages, his eyes drifting to the same thing over and over, because yeah, she can be observant when she wants. And caring. Both, really, if she can open her heart up to like someone. In her case, Killian is that person, because no one’s ever been so stubborn and entertaining to her before. Plus, he really  _does_ care for her, she can tell.

 

Only, she’s just stubborn to ever admit it. As strong-headed as ever with exposing herself to a truth she’s aware of.)

 

There’s flurries outside, but she doesn’t mind that much. Not at the moment, at least.

 

She returns with his gift, taking it out of a bag and setting it down on the coffee table. She’s never been the best at gift wrapping, but at least it’s wrapped. “Now we can exchange gifts.”

 

“Well, Swan, that’s quite a gift you got me.”

 

“Yeah…” she trails off, removing her jacket. Her ears still sting a little from the cold, but it’s warming up. “Who first?”

 

Killian looks at her as if that’s a stupid question, because right… _gentleman_.

 

“Okay.” Emma picks up the little box, unwrapping it slowly.

 

 _Jewelry_ , she thinks as she removes the cap of the box, finding a necklace that has a ring on it.

 

It’s not just any piece of jewelry, though. She recognizes this from the stories he’s told - he’s always worn it under his shirt as a memento. “Isn’t…isn’t this your brother’s?” she asks with confusion, looking up at him with her brows furrowed as her thumb brushes the ring. “Why are you giving this to me?”

 

“Aye,” he confirms, “you’re my best friend, Emma, and I know Liam would have wanted it me to give it to you -”

 

 _Best friend_ stings a bit and she doesn’t blame him, but -

 

She’s not quite sure how it happens; she’s clutching the necklace in her hand before her other hand tugs him close, her lips making some heavy contact with his. For one brief moment, perhaps he doesn’t feel the same way as she does, so she nearly pulls away, but damn, his arms wrap around her waist, pressing her closer to him than already possible, as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss.

 

It’s not something she’s imagined to do in the years she’s known him. Yes, he’s quite the attractive man (and he’s British), but between risking her only best friend and everything they’d developed because she has a crush on him and he may only possibly feel the same? A big risk Emma wasn’t willing to take until now. No one just gives the last thing they have of their last family to anyone.

 

To think she’s the one to pull away first, it’s not.

 

Killian pulls away from her and well…she chases after his lips for  _more_ (quite shamelessly), but it’s enough to stop her when he nudges her nose with his and presses his forehead against hers, their lips merely hovering over each other.

 

“That was -”

 

“Hopefully not a one time thing?” Emma asks, interrupting whatever he planned on saying.

 

His laughter makes his chest rumble against her. “Hopefully not, but also bloody incredible and the best kiss I’ve had in my life.”

 

“Flirting extraordinaire Killian Jones hasn’t had a better kiss than that?”

 

Killian smiles at her, a look - between his stunning blue eyes and sweet smile - so tender and loving, that she thinks, for one moment, she may literally explode because she just kissed her best friend and he feels the same. That’s a huge relief for Emma, and yet, there’s so many possibilities of things going wrong between them down the line but she’s never felt so much more compatible with someone.

 

So… _right_.

 

(It’s not a feeling she knows how to describe.)

 

“I haven’t kissed any other lass since I met you, Emma.”

 

If he’s trying to make her cry and feel guilty, he’s on his damn way there.

 

“I never believed that you’d ever settle for having me any more than a friend,” he explains, “but I suppose you’ve proven me wrong tonight.” Then he hesitates for a moment, raising an eyebrow. “You  _have_ proven me wrong tonight, right?”

 

Emma is either about to cry or laugh - hysterical tears, really - as she buries her face against his shoulder and his arms wrap tightly around her in a way she’s never been held before, so secure and just, well, once again,  _right_. “Yeah,” she mumbles, the sound of her voice muffled by his body and shirt.

 

&&.

She wears the necklace around her neck, her fingers holding onto it tightly while she waits for him to unwrap his gift.

 

(Even if she never got the necklace, it’s definitely been the best Christmas she’s had in forever.)

 

And perhaps she is a little anxious.

 

“You are going at the speed of a sloth.”

 

He stops what he’s doing, turns to her, and gives her the  _did you really just pull that card?_  look. “I’m sorry I’m taking forever,  _love_.”

 

Right, now that term of endearment has an entirely different meaning behind it now. “I’m just…anxious to know how you feel about it.”

 

“Regardless of what it may be, I’m sure I’ll like it, Swan.” He smiles at her before he finishes unwrapping it. Of course, she put it in a box so wrapping it is easier, and when he opens the box up and sees what it is, his expression makes her stomach flip.

 

He looks downright surprised and absolutely  _elated_.

 

“Did you…how did you know?”

 

“The amount of times we’ve gone out for a lunch and you looking at that ship in a bottle when we passed the antique store didn’t go unnoticed,” Emma says with a small shrug, a smile curling at her lips. “I saved up a bit, hoping to get it by Christmas. And I did.”

 

Killian holds the bottle up, his eyes looking at the ship which holds such intricate details from the design and build, before he sets it down carefully. “This is…bloody fantastic, Swan,” he says, “ _but_  -”

 

Now that’s not something she wants to hear. “Wait, wait, wait. ‘But’ what?”

 

“ _But_  you’re an even better gift.”

 

&&.

 

Waking up the next morning, she’s buried beneath blankets in a bed. And yeah, she’s quite aware it’s not her bed she’s in. Though, she is in the bed alone which flares some panic, but the smell of coffee in the morning drifts in through the crack from the bedroom door, and her heart that paces settles back to the regular speed as she slides herself out from under the covers, stumbling down the hall in a mess - her t-shirt is crumpled and she’s honestly still half-awake with sleep in her eyes.

 

Emma walks in finding him pouring a mug of coffee, but he must sense her because his eyes raise to look at her, and an immediate grin cracks at his lips.

 

The morning after and she’s not running away. That’s a good first.

 

“Good morning, love,” he greets, enthusiasm all too obvious in his voice. “Coffee?”

 

“Sure,” she mumbles, rubbing at her eyes. “You look really happy. Almost too happy.”

 

Killian laughs, handing her a mug of steaming hot coffee. “Well, it’s Christmas and I just slept with the woman I love, so…”

 

Emma chuckles as she takes the mug from him and nods. “Fair point.”

 

(And it’s not the  _I had sex_  kind of sleep, it’s more of the  _cuddling all night to make up for wasted time_ kind of sleep.)

 

&&.

 

Neither of them are going to go out, and they sort of  _broke the typical open gifts on Christmas Day not Eve_ , so they stick to the couch all day, watching Home Alone 1 and 2, but not 3 because they both agree the third one sucks.

 

At some point, they trail off to discussing how it sucks Macaulay Culkin grew up to be a drug addict, and then it turns into her falling asleep with her head on his lap and his fingers threading through her hair.

 

She wakes up to the smell of Chinese takeout.

 

Quite the eventful Christmas.

 

&&.

 

Even by New Years day, or technically, the night before New Years, the both of them have a bottle of beer and clink each others, mumbling a, “Cheers,” before taking a swig out of it.

 

At least this time she can tug him from the collar of his shirt in for a mind-blowing kiss.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written in a long time. I'm sorry I've been gone for so long!


	88. i'll be at your door tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm returning from the dead. :)  
> note x2: i'm also very rusty...and most of this was written a long time ago and i recently revisited and finished it up, so if it sucks, then i guess it sucks.

When he first offers his services to be a nanny to certain single mother _Emma Swan_ , he doesn't intend to fall in love with her.

 

There is no intention for him to fall in love.

 

His intentions are fairly pure, to just take care of her ten year old because she sometimes can't be home with her sporadic _perp chasing_ schedule. Killian is rather impressed that she's behind throwing bail jumpers into jail.

 

His schedule is always quite flexible, given he works from home and is his own boss, so whenever Emma needs him, he will always be there to help. Sure, it's a little weird that he always seems available all times during the days of a week, but it's easy once explained that he works from home and it's just himself behind a screen most of the time.

 

At first, perhaps he seems like a technological nerd, but he is beyond that. He doesn't let Henry play video games into the late hours of the night or right when he gets home from school. Killian enforces the entire _focus on your education_ thing just as much, ensuring that the lad gets his homework done and doesn't procrastinate since procrastination never really leads to the best results. It's just a lesson he teaches her boy, which will hopefully carry on into his later years.

 

When he finds their fridge relatively empty, he knows he needs to go out grocery shopping, but also can't leave a ten year old alone when it's his job to be looking after him.

 

"Henry!"

 

"Yeah?" he yells back.

 

"Grab your jacket, we're going to the supermarket."

 

That's how he finds himself in the supermarket with Emma's son, strolling through aisles and such, filling up the cart with what's necessary for _every_ home. And yes, he left a note on the counter for her to see in case she begins to panic that he's gone off and kidnapped her son to trade illegally or something.

 

If he's going to be staying all so often, he needs to have a stocked up fridge and cupboards for the breakfasts or dinners, or even lunches on the weekends if she's working.

 

Things are a bit rocky the first week though, given that Emma seems to have some trust issues with him during the beginning. Against her, Henry seems to enjoy his company quite well and doesn't care about whatever ground rules he's got to follow when around him. In any case, at least he has the job and gets to spend time with both herself and her son, who really, are both quite the pair. (He may or may not wonder occasionally who the father is, but he never goes out of his way to ask.)

 

(It's funny, though people often mistaking Henry to be his son.)

 

(Maybe he wishes he was.)

 

As much as he's getting paid to care for her boy, he can't help but also care for her a little, too. There is always enough breakfast to go around and a dinner in the fridge composed of what's left over from before. He tells her how Henry's doing before he leaves, or he just writes a note and leaves it on the same place on the counter just as he finds himself always doing.

 

Killian can tell Emma is a loving mother, he really can. And it seems like she's trying her best to be an ever _better_ mother. Though he really does hope she knows that her little boy isn't expecting so much out of her.

 

He knows she works a more dangerous job, is acutely aware of injuries or grumpy moods. So after some digging around (which is essentially asking Henry), he begins to leave some of her favourite things around.

 

Emma always texts him about when she's going to get home, so he makes sure there's a nice hot cocoa (with cinnamon sprinkled on, apparently), on the counter next to his note right before she returns. Or, sometimes he'll buy the bear paws she favours so much and store them in the cupboards behind a few other things, leaving its location written on the note. Through all of this, he notices herself begin to warm up to him, that she'll laugh and smile more instead of shooting him glares of just being distant and asking of Henry's behaviour.

 

But on one particular, night he finds himself with a message popping up on his phone that bothers him quite a bit.

 

**_got a little beat up tonight, i'll be back late, sorry._ **

 

Immediately, a frown finds his face. It's not the 'having to stay later' that bothers him, it's how it's 11:24PM and she's been bruised up from her bail jumper. He shrugs off his leather jacket that he'd put on earlier and drops it on the arm of the couch before sitting down, picking the remote up and turning on the TV. She may be Henry's mom, the woman who's paying him to do his job of taking care of the _boy_ , but sometimes, she needs someone to take care of her, too. If only she just _lets_ him.

 

So, when the front door unlocks and the doorknob turns, he stands up and heads over, Emma kicking off her heels and leaning against the wall for support. "Bloody hell, how bad was tonight?" he asks, watching her jump a little.

 

"Wasn't that bad," she mumbles. "I thought you would've left by now."

 

"You sent me a message that casually stated you got a _little_ beat up tonight, forgive me for not being exactly fond on the idea of leaving." He sighs softly, eyes scanning over her face. "Henry's asleep, so best we don't talk too loudly. Are you in any pain, love?"

 

"A cut on my hand - which delayed driving a bit - and some bruises on my knee since the ass decided to flip a table which caught me off guard. And aching feet from running in heels, but that's it."

 

He nods, understanding that her injuries aren't so bad, but he heads to the washroom and grabs the first aid kit. He returns to find Emma changed into her more casual clothes, sprawled across the couch, the light illuminating her face from the flashing commercials. Killian grabs himself the ottoman and moves in front, opening up the kit on the coffee table behind him.

 

"Come on, Swan, let's get that cut treated."

 

"It's nothing."

 

"Do you wish for an infection?" he asks. When she sighs and shakes her head, offering her hand, he smirks victoriously, taking her hand and dabbing the disinfectants, which causes her to wince slightly. "Sorry, love," he mumbles, cleaning off the dry blood.

 

It takes all of him to not lift her hand any closer so he can press some kisses to her knuckles. She may be letting him treat her wounds, but he's not so sure if she feels the same as he. He's focused, ripping the band-aid so he can stick it there and let her cut recover up.

 

"Thanks," she huffs out, flexing her fingers and settling her hand on her stomach. "You didn't need to do that."

 

He chuckles. "Just cause I care for your boy, doesn't mean I can't care for you too, Swan."

 

"Well, you know, I could've handled it myself."

 

He closes up the first aid kit and nods, understanding her but wanting her to still know that it's okay to be cared for by someone else once in awhile. "I don't doubt that - you're quite the strong, independent woman."

 

&&.

 

The first he hears of _Emma Swan_ going on a _date_ feels like a stab to his heart. He never really intended to fall in love with her, but within the past few months, he's grown to, and he can't help it.

 

But, yes, while he stays home to watch over Henry and make sure he does his homework and gets fed, she is going out on a date. And to make things all the better, she's obviously dressed up and bloody _gorgeous_ , stunning, really. While he gets to drink a cold beer and sit in front of the couch and occasionally go to Henry to make sure he's doing his work, he gets to be faced with her in a red dress that makes him both breathless and speechless simultaneously.

 

(The entire _not_ trying to fall in love plan really failed.)

 

"You look fetching in that, Swan," he compliments, having to gulp just at the sight. "Quite a vision, really."

 

He is also observant, so he catches the blush on her cheeks. "Thanks...I guess."

 

"You don't seem very excited for your date," he says, taking a sip from his beer. "Not interested?"

 

"Set up," she answers.

 

"Don't go."

 

His jealousy is speaking - trying to prevent her from going on this date of hers.

 

"I can't just... _not_ go. I mean, sure I'll probably have a nice time and all with the guy, but I probably won't keep in contact with him anyways." She shrugs, grabbing her keys. "Just take care of Henry, okay?"

 

He forces a smile onto his face and nods. "Aye, I will...uh...have a fine evening then."

 

&&.

 

Although he enjoys his time with Henry while Emma is out on her set up date, the jealousy that courses through his veins is ridiculous. He _knows_ it could turn out badly, but he wants a shot with her, and her being out on a date does not make this any easier for him.

 

He's hoping it turns out that she's uninterested in the guy. He wants to be the lucky bloke at her side. Killian _loves_ Henry, and he's already getting there when it comes to Emma as well, so really, what could go wrong? Sure, she first didn't have much trust in him given that he first flirted a little, but now that he's grown to know the both of them, he does like being around this little family - a family he's interested in being apart of if anything ever gets _serious_ , assuming he gets the chance with Emma.

 

Killian doesn't like the thought of just being the person to take care of her son, get paid at the end of the week, and never be more. He doesn't like the thought that one day she won't need someone to be looking after him at all hours of the day, and he'll be let off to never keep in contact with either of them again. And he certainly _hates_ the thought that another man could take his place if things in some relationship gets serious, simply meaning him being replaced because someone else can do it as well as he does. All of these thoughts and possibilities of change boils his blood. Perhaps he is a greedy man, selfish and all, but what can he do when his heart wants it?

 

(Wants _her_?)

 

It's not very late when she gets back, around 9PM - give or take - the door cracking open with a swing.

 

"Welcome back, love."

 

"Huh - oh hey," she says, taking her heels off. "Where's Henry?"

 

"Reading in his room, I presume. How did your evening go?" he asks, genuinely curious about how it went. He needs to know if he still has a chance.

 

"It was... _okay_. The guy was fishy though. I didn't like him very much, even if he seemed like a nice guy on the outside." She laughs and he feels awfully relieved to know this. "Had nothing in common, really."

 

Killian sighs, patting the spot next to him on the couch. "Tell me about it, Swan. Unless, that is, you would rather forget about the entire thing and just watch a film or two. Perhaps The Princess Bride?"

 

Emma’s smile, fleeting but present, is a good thing. "Let me go change and check up on Henry."

 

&&.

 

He has several temptations the entire time to reach out and rest his hand on her thigh or to draw his fingers through her hair, but he keeps his hands to himself the entire movie and makes quiet remarks that causes her to laugh (or to slap him because he needs to _shut up_ ).

 

By the end of the film, after the _happily ever after_ , her feet are touching his thighs and her head is on the armrest, a frown on her face evident.

 

"Is there something bothering you?" he asks quietly, knowing that Henry is asleep (him being the one who checked up on him during the movie).

 

"Just that watching this reminds me of what happened tonight. The guy asked me what my favourite movie is, I answered with this, he _sort of_ laughed."

 

"Sort of? Either way, he laughed at your choice of a favourite movie, that's bad form on his part," he tells her.

 

"Yeah, I know," she mumbles, finally sitting up, tucking her feet and bringing her knees up. "Somewhere in my mind during that date, I knew that you would never laugh."

 

He softens immediately at what she says, and keeps himself attentive and understanding. "Did you now?"

 

"Mhm," she hums, smiling just a _tiny_ bit. "You respect me and everything I stand for and love. And you're so good with Henry, I never hear the end of it from him even if you force him to make sure to _absorb knowledge_ and _do homework_. He's never had a positive father figure in his life, it's pretty awesome that he has you to fill in that space."

 

It's something he thought he'd never hear in his life, and just hearing that he's like a father figure to Henry makes his heart do a little leap. He knows he has a chance, and he knows for sure he cares about Emma more than her just being a source of income. "Well, I am beyond flattered and honoured to play that role." It's an honest statement he's making here. He really does care, and come to think of it, he already sees Henry as his own son, even though he never will be; he'll never be his _actual_ father, but just a man who can take over and be one where needed.

 

And if he’s understanding all of this correctly, it sounds like Emma _likes_ him being around.

 

Hope is an awfully powerful and driving emotion.

 

"You didn't want me to go on that date, did you?"

 

The question isn't an absurd one, especially because the answer to that is _yes, I didn't want you to go on it_ , and he's not sure if he should be so direct given her old trust issues and her stubborn personality. "Would you prefer me being honest?" It's a stupid question, is what he realizes, since Emma is so adept at picking out lies.

 

"Yes?" she laughs, it coming out sort of like a question.

 

"Then no, I wanted you to go on that date," he declares all dramatically and sarcastically, causing her to laugh even more (muffled, turning her face into the arm of the couch), despite it being a serious question. But after she calms down, he takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "But aye, Swan, I didn't want you to go out on that date. I wanted to be the one to sit you down for dinner, actually."

 

"Jealous?"

 

" _Quite_ ," he admits, looking away, sheepishly scratching behind his ear. He builds up the courage during that moment, turning back. "Would you perhaps be interested in a dinner out? Even if it's a lunch date...or something of the sorts. I _like_ you, Emma, but if this doesn't work out, I'll still be what you and the lad need, while we omit the fact we went out. Once."

 

And he swears, all the jealousy and envy fades away when she agrees.

 

The embarrassment, however, returns. Mainly thanks to Henry.

 

"Do you like my Mom?"

 

He's just been making pancakes for breakfast the morning after, so the question catches him off guard for a moment.

 

"Oh come on, I'm ten, not a blind baby, Killian. It's not like I'll make everything hard for you to do if you like her." Henry drinks from his glass of orange juice. "It'd be sorta cool! Mom hasn't liked many guys after my Dad, so..."

 

Killian is quite aware of that situation. "Well, I suppose I can answer honestly and say that I do."

 

&&.

 

Things turn out better than well, actually. They go on more dates and he spends even _more_ time over instead of just the babysitting duties, and before he knows it, there's space in her closet and drawers for him. There's his favourite mug in the cupboards and his favourite beer in the fridge. He and Henry go out to play _football_ ( _for the last time, Swan, it's not soccer, it’s football!_ ) and baseball, and return back to pizza and a movie night.

 

So...yeah, things do turn out well.

 

And thank _god_ his jealousy comes to show sometimes, because it's ridiculous how many times he has to barge in and say that she's taken.

 

Soon enough, he forgets about taking up his lease and just moves in with Emma and Henry to really be a part of the family. Killian Jones is full time family man.

 

Things aren’t easy, though. He is happy, and he believes she is happy -

 

(“Are you happy, Emma?” he murmurs.

 

It’s dark, he doesn’t know why he’s asking it in the middle of the night, but he feels the bed shift and he turns his head to look at her. To look at her through the darkness and the mere illumination of the light permeating through the curtains.

 

“Yeah. Are you?”

 

He doesn’t hesitate. “Aye.”)

 

\- but some nights she’s still out late and some days Killian will worry when there isn’t a text or a call to tell him that she’ll be home when. It’s only in his best nature to worry about her, after all.

 

But….but, things are good. They’re great. They’re _spectacular_.

 

Killian isn’t Henry’s father, and he never will be, but he can be a positive male figure in his life. He isn’t a perfect man for Emma, but he knows he doesn’t need to be.

 

If happiness was a currency…

 

He’s rich.

 


	89. time flies too quickly (for my taste, darling)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning; may be nothing special. any mistakes are mine. I didn’t really thoroughly edit. also, let’s just ignore the fact that Brennan named his other son Liam...for the sake of this fic.

"Dad, _shush_."

 

"I will not simply 'shush' when my favourite son is taking his first girlfriend out on a date," Killian retorts with a glare at Liam who's been pacing back and forth in the living room for the past ten minutes.

 

"So you admit you like me over Henry, huh?"

 

"Oh _bloody hell_ , don't tell him that." He's made a grave mistake with saying that, but Henry's already out in the real world with a job and all. He's grown up and with Grace, the lass that has the Mad Hatter as her father.

 

"I'll also tell Mom you swore."

 

"That's not really profane language, Liam," Killian tells him, his fingers tapping his thigh as he watches his sixteen year old son plop down next to him. "Well, at least not too inappropriate."

 

They sit in silence for a few moments, that silence broken when he hears footsteps descending down the steps. He's familiarized himself with the sound of different feet pattering on the bamboo wooden floors. He recognizes the footsteps this time as his daughter's, a smile on his lips despite not even seeing or talking to her just yet.

 

"Hey, Dad, do you know where Mom is?"

 

Killian twists his body to look at Leia. "She went out for groceries, but should be back any minute now," he explains.

 

"Oh, alright." She looks at Liam who's sitting next to him. "Oh, right, _hah_ , you have your date tonight!"

 

"You make it sound like that's a bad thing," Liam retaliates, turning around and grimacing. Leia has a rather amused face on. Well, it's the typical brother-sister relationship, and though Liam may be loving to his little sister who's four years younger than him, she surely knows how to flare his temper sometimes. "You know one day you'll be asked out by a guy and you'll come running to me or Dad about it."

 

It's his chance as the father to interrupt that train of thought. Killian coughs, clearing his throat. "To be fair, lad, your Mum asked me out."

 

"Yeah, _Mom_ asked Dad out the first time," Leia repeats, sticking her tongue out at Liam.

 

Liam does that jaw clench - a shared trait between father and son. "Dad, who's side are you even on?"

 

"Neither," he says, "or both, I suppose. I'm your father, I don't pick sides." Killian laughs, ruffling Liam's hair, despite him being sixteen and a 'big boy' now.

 

Liam groans, trying to get his hair back into place.

 

Parenthood has changed Killian. Even Emma. From being scared about having children to having a daughter and son which he has been wrapped around since the first time he saw them as a tiny babe with their eyes closed and body squirming...it's been a long, long ride. He is no longer youthful, anymore - there is no Neverland to preserve the glow he once used to hold. He has gray hair sticking out on his head and in his stubble, but he is not the only one. Emma has started to as well, but he couldn't ask for anything else in the world.

 

Being an orphan himself, having missed his family for centuries (well, he's seen Liam in the underworld, but still), it's refreshing to have a family and be the man his father wasn't able to be in Killian's childhood.

 

"So when's your date?" Leia suddenly asks, interrupting his train of thought.

 

"In an hour."

 

"Ooooh, are you gonna kiss her, too?"

 

Oh, now _that_ is an entirely different conversation. "Liam -"

 

" _Dad_ , I know," Liam interjects before Killian can finish what he wants to say, standing up. "I'm sixteen and competent, not twelve and immature."

 

"Hey, I'm not immature!" Leia exclaims with a small frown.

 

Liam scoffs and moves to pat Leia's head, the height difference between them at least over an entire head in size. "Dream on, little sister," Liam says when he's swatted away, walking off toward the stairs and supposedly to his bedroom.

" _Younger_ ," his sister groans.

 

It's a lovely sight to see though, the banter between siblings which he hasn't been able to have in forever ever since his brother passed away. It reminds him very much of his Liam, the entire 'little versus younger' debate. He misses it, and he often misses his brother, too. Killian's sure Liam would have been the perfect Uncle, the fun Uncle, in all honesty, but he would also be the embarrassing brother as per usual.

 

He turns and Leia plops down on the couch next to him, and he smiles and wraps an arm around his daughter. "You're aware he does love you, aye?"

 

"Yeah," she mumbles, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I know. I do, too."

 

"You do enjoy ticking him off, though, don't you, little love?"

 

She huffs. "I'm not little anymore."

 

Their daughter is growing up too quickly, as is Liam, too. "You'll always be little to me, Leia," he says, giving her shoulder a light squeeze as he turns his head and kisses the top of her hair. A blonde, much like her mother. "Liam, as well. Though, don't tell him that. Keep it a secret for me, yeah?"

 

The girl turns her head and smiles up at him and he smiles widely back. "I promise. Pirate's oath!"

 

Of course he can't help the small laugh that escapes him. Both of these kids are pirates to every sense, though Killian's beginning to think the lad is more of a noble knight now. "Good. Now, go do your homework and then I'll tell your mother you were looking for her later, alright?" He thinks just for another moment. "Perhaps I'll convince her into dessert for tonight's dinner."

 

&&.

 

Killian impatiently goes over with Liam to make sure what to do and what not to do, but, as he expects, the boy rushes out the moment he realizes he must be punctual, and he feels successful enough as a father. Either that, or because he didn't want to be in his company, but Killian's not going to take much offense from that given he knows he's a bit overbearing with this stuff. Emma's told him on multiple occasions that he's the far too protective, but proud parent.

 

(To be fair, she's worse with the over-protectiveness. He's proudly been giving Liam tips.)

 

Liam is out the door in a flash and he's standing there, shaking his head as he turns over to the kitchen which is being occupied by two of his favourite girls, wife and daughter, busy with making dinner, and for a few moments, he stands and watches with a smile.

 

"It does smell spectacular from here," he comments.

 

His wife turns her head to glance at him. "You say that all the time."

 

"I mean, you've become quite the chef," he says.

 

"Yeah - hey, Leia, grab that spoon for me - anyway, how's Liam?"

 

Killian looks around the mess in the kitchen (it's not too messy, actually), while he hums over the question she acts. "Sped out a few moments ago claiming he's to be punctual." He chuckles. "I've got hopes he remains a gentleman."

 

Emma laughs and Leia mutters something, but neither of them make out what exactly she says. "With you as a father, I'm sure he'll be just the perfect gentleman," she says, eyeing him casually.

 

God, his family means the world to him.

 

&&.

 

They end up having dessert, just as he convinces Emma of it and because he doesn't want to have Leia pouting for it. It still turns out that he's completely weak when it comes to the wants of his children, but at the least, he knows how to manage successfully. He makes them work for what they want, and they've raised them the way they wanted to ever since day one, so he knows his children are good human beings. More than good. He's inherently proud of them, no matter what ridiculous phrases come from their mouths or what stupid things they make mistakes on.

 

At the end of the day, he wouldn't trade anything for this life. At the end of the day, he's glad he chose Emma over going to heaven with his brother. He can only hope that his brother is happy where he has moved onto.

 

Liam returns at exactly 9:00PM sharp, a smile plastered to his face, almost glowing. He reckons it's a successful date, but he doesn't ask, letting the lad bask in his happiness. Though...he does share a look with Emma, but they're just smiling, too.

 

Leia has gone off to finish the last of her homework.

 

"There's plenty of time for me to tease him later," he mumbles.

 

Emma scoffs. "He'll hate that, you know."

 

Killian simply grins and shakes his head, not caring for the world knowing that his boy loves him too much to ever hate it. "He's used to it."

 

&&.

 

When both of their children are in bed, Killian and Emma are much the same, climbing into their shared bed together.

 

"They're growing up fast," she says. "I'm getting that same feeling I had with Henry."

 

Killian absolutely hates thinking about this part of things. As much as he's happy with his children, happy that they're maturing and becoming lovely people, he can't bear the thought of letting them go. They all have such _deep_ bonds with each other, the idea of seeing them grow up and divide off from this house and them sounds painful. All he's ever wanted is a family, and he has this family with Emma, and they have this home together, too. Everything is just all too perfect, much like the kids.

 

Well, the kids aren't perfect in a literal sense, but they're perfect to _him_ in another way. He wishes he could just freeze ageing and live on like this forever, but one of the best things a parent can experience, no matter how painful it may be, is to let them go.

 

Inhaling a deep breath, he lets it out in one slow go, and nods. "Aye, they are." His voice is tinted with a clear bit of sadness.

 

Emma's got her head resting on his shoulder, hand on his chest. "It's a sad feeling, isn't it?"

 

"Indeed, it is," he mumbles. "I've the memory of Leia's fingers curling around my index finger or playing pirates with Liam outside as if it was yesterday."

 

"Time flies," his wife whispers, just before she drifts off to sleep.

 

 _It does_ , Killian thinks to himself as he closes his eyes to get rest for another day that'll be full of energy. Although there's a definite melancholic feeling to all of this, he doesn't really mind. It's just another part of his life - _their_ life - that he'll need to endure. He's been through much worse before, but watching his children grow up is more of a blessing than anything. He may feel sorrow when it comes to watching them grow so quickly while he's aging, but he can't ask for more.

 

He's got more family than he ever could've asked for.


	90. dreaming about warmth in the cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for lenfaz. :]  
> hope this is okay!! fluff ahoy!

Well, she supposes being ditched by her date at the public skating rink couldn't _possibly_ be the worst thing the world. It's not as if that hasn't happened many times before, but this time, the skating rink? Really.

 

Emma sighs as she decides to skate around anyways given that she's already here and plus, this may do good to relieve some of her frustration. Dating isn't her thing, clearly, and she's now second-doubting everything once again. Perhaps she should give it up and accept the fact that being alone is the only way it'll ever go for her. Being alone isn't that bad, anyway. It's not like happiness cannot be achieved by being single.

 

 _Single and ready to mingle_ , she used to think when she was younger. More like _single and free_ now.

 

Though some part of her is glad her date never showed up because by looking around now, she realizes there's a hell of a lot of little kids skating around; though, most of them seem to be learning how to skate, and it's sort of entertainment. Maybe a little mean on her end, but watching kids learn how to skate is funny and amusing nonetheless. And so when a little girl rams into her and falls onto her ass, Emma looks down and moves to help her up because - duh - it's the _right_ thing to do.

 

And then comes someone, a man with a British accent, as he skates up to her.

 

"Amy, lass, are you okay?"

 

Emma looks between the much older man and the little girl who's holding onto Emma's hand. Well, there's a connection there. _Maybe she's his daughter_ , Emma thinks to herself, but she doesn't see much of a resemblance. (Wild guess, really, given that the girl is all bundled up in her pink and violet jacket, scarf, gloves, and toque.) Well, it doesn't mean she's not his.

 

"Yes. Uhm, sorry, Miss!" Amy apologizes to Emma before turning to look at the man. "Mr. Jones, I'm not so good at this."

 

"It's alright," he says, offering her a hand. "Come on, I spot your mum over there. Let's take it slow this time, yeah?"

 

"Okay!"

 

Emma, on one hand, just watches the little girl and man skate back slowly to where there's a woman waiting outside the rink, obviously the little girl's mother. Just as Emma's about to go on her own way, the man - _Mr. Jones_ \- turns his head and smiles at her, mouthing something close to "thank you" and "wait a second." Honestly, she shouldn't care and she should just go on her way, back to her apartment where she can order some pizza and slouch onto her sofa and turn the TV onto Netflix, but her gut tells her to just stay.

 

Surely enough, she does, and she skates over to the side and waits, making sure she's not blocking anyone's way.

 

By the time he's skating back to her, she actually realizes how attractive the man is. He's...well, tall, dark, and handsome. Fits that quite well, she'd say. Emma gulps, just as he stands in front of her.

 

"Hi," he says, "thank you, for earlier. She often skates off uncontrollably and I have to stop her. Unfortunately, as you know, that didn't end up being the case this time around."

 

She laughs. "It's...fine. Not like a kid does damage."

 

"Well, I'd beg to differ on _that_ , but I'm rather used to it." He smiles at her. "Killian Jones."

 

A hand sticks out and she debates between shaking it or not, but she may as well. So she does, and though both their hands are gloved, the point is made. "Emma...Swan." She doesn't really want to tell a stranger her name, but it's probably better to given he's already introduced himself.

 

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Swan." His smile lingers as he turns his head and glances over at the children who seem to be well occupied on their own. "Most of them go home in about ten minutes. Would you fancy yourself a drink nearby?"

 

"No, it's -"

 

"Compensation for when Amy skated into you earlier," he interrupts. "I noticed you've been here for a while. You must be a bit cold."

 

Just as she wants to say no -

 

"Yes," she blurts out, "uh, yes to being...cold." _God damn it, smooth going, Swan_. She shakes her head lightly. "I guess I could get a drink with you." _It's not a date_ , she repeats in her head over and over. _He's just being a nice guy._

 

Let's just hope this nice guy isn't a bad guy in disguise.

 

"Give me fifteen? I've to help a few of them get their skates off, but then I'll be free."

 

&&.

 

Feeling the warmth hit her skin as she walks into the coffee shop is a real relief. She hadn't noticed how cold she was while she was outside, but coming into a warm environment, she realizes now. Emma sighs and unwraps the scarf from around herself as she follows him to take a nearby seat.

 

Killian is unzipping his jacket and tugging his beanie off his head. His hair is all kinds of disheveled, even after he runs his hand through his hair a couple of times in an attempt to smooth it out. "How do you like your coffee?"

 

"Dark, milk and sugar," she answers.

 

"I'll be back in a moment, then," Killian responds with a nod of acknowledgement over her coffee.

 

She _really_ shouldn't be here, but she is. For a good few minutes, she taps her fingers on the round table and waits, but she's more occupied with her messy thoughts. Originally she was out waiting on another date, but here she is now, with the kid's skating instructor. From earlier, she can tell he's fantastic with the children and they all seem to love him when he gets more than a few hugs from them, and she finds that attractive.

 

Who doesn't find a man who's terrific with children attractive?

 

Emma huffs a breath, frustrated with her own thoughts, and then a cup is set in front of her, emitting warmth that her hands can feel from a few spots down. "Thanks," she murmurs, looking up at him.

 

He's got a faint smile curling his lips and he nods. "So, love, what brought you to the ice rink by yourself?"

 

She visibly winces at that and she notices his frown.

 

"Ah," he starts before she can even say anything, "ditched?"

 

"I guess," she mutters, bringing her coffee up to her lips and blowing gently into the hole.

 

"I was once ditched. I'd love to say it didn't kill my ego, but unfortunately that's not the case at all."

 

She scoffs at that and shakes her head. How _he_ could be ditched is beyond her understanding, and why they're discussing being ditched, she doesn't really know anymore, but as he rambles on about how he was ditched oh so _painfully_ , as he puts it, she finds herself enraptured by him. He's just another guy, but something clicks in Emma. It's stupid, she needs to stop, but she can't. She finds herself glancing between his eyes and his lips, listening to Killian's voice, a deep and accented soothing voice, as he tells his story and his emotional pain (which is so dramatically exaggerated, she can't stop her laughter).

 

Except she sees something in his eyes, something like pain, and it makes her guts twist and turn. She doesn't know why she's even here anymore, or for any fact, why that is something that even matters, but as the time passes by, she's done her coffee and enjoying his company.

 

Emma's initial impression that he could be a bad guy is thrown out the window. She's smiling and occasionally making snarky comments, sarcastic and quite amused, while he frowns and claims that it hurts his ego.

 

She realizes he has quite a large ego, too.

 

"Perhaps next time, you can help me with the kids," Killian offers her, his head tilted slightly to the side. "Amy, you remember her, aye?" She nods. "She said you're pretty. I'm afraid I've got to agree with the little lass on that."

 

And immediately, she feels the heat rise to her cheeks and she must be blushing. Damn it, she's weak for this guy. She doesn't want to be, doesn't want to get attached, but she thinks they might be able to be _friends_.

 

"I'd be happy to help." She would. She's good with kids, she can do this. It can be purely a platonic friends thing, right?

 

"Superb!" He's grinning, his teeth showing through as he then settles and scratches behind his ear. "Though, I would need your number."

 

"Technically you wouldn't," she tells him. "You could just tell me the schedule."

 

He purses his lips and shakes his head. "Do a man a favour this once, would you?"

 

"Hey, I'm already doing you a favour with volunteering to help!"

 

They both say something at the same time. Emma narrows her eyes at him and he does the same back, but they just chuckle together as he pulls his phone out from his pocket, asking her once again, and she caves, giving him her number all while he gives her his. This can work.

 

"I can't guarantee I can make it to every session," she warns him, "my work schedule is sporadic." She does work as a bail bondsperson, so if it's something she needs to get to, she may not be capable of being there to help him.

 

Killian's one eyebrow raises, but he nods, understanding seen in his eyes. "That's fine. Just shoot me a text, aye?"

 

"I can do that."

 

This isn't right. She _just_ met him and she's already doing things like assisting him with other kids for skating?

 

&&.

 

Days pass and so do weeks, and she's already helped out a total of ten times. That means ten times of coddling little, adorable children and ten times of seeing the smiles on those faces and Killian's, too. She's so weak for him already, and she has a stupid crush, she knows it, but she refuses to act.

 

It's just her job to not act on it.

 

The more Emma talks to him, though, the more she really, _really_ wants to do something like kiss him, and as strong as her impulse to do so is, she's managed to slither her way out of those situations. She makes sure she's never too close to him, otherwise she may do something like kiss him in front of all the children and parents. That's not exactly something she wants to do, after all, and she's trying her hardest to avoid humiliating and hurting herself. She can't lead him on, especially if it's just going to be a fleeting crush. Emma knows heartbreak, so she can at least spare him that if he's expecting her.

 

She holds her skates in one hand and her phone in the other as she checks her latest text messages, the last one from Killian about meeting at 6:30pm.

 

What she finds suspicious, though, is that the rink is mostly empty. There's people loitering around, but not a whole lot, and the rink only holds a few people. She eyes it warily and looks around for Killian.

 

"Swan! Over here!"

 

When she catches his eye, Emma tucks her phone into her pocket and walks over to him, confusion written all over her face with the way her eyebrows are scrunched together and from the way she glances back and forth between the rink and Killian.

 

"Where's all the kids?" she asks.

 

"There are none," he tells her, "as you can tell, of course, but...erm, well, I figured that we could just skate a bit on our own."

 

"Is this an impromptu date?"

 

Well, _that_ question flies out of her mouth so quickly she doesn't get the chance to take it back. Though she thinks she can manages. His smile is soft and his cheeks are red, and whether that's the blush or the cold, she thinks it may be both, but she doesn't call him out on it. He rubs the back of his neck as he shrugs. "Perhaps," he says, "if you want to call it that. I thought it'd just be a nice gesture, a throwback to when we first met all those weeks ago. The ice is going to melt soon and the rink is going to close down for the spring season, so I thought it could be a bit of a thanks for all of your help."

 

Emma is absolutely taken away. Smitten. Her heart is now telling her to throw all of her previous plans into the wind and just take a chance with him. Killian's nice, he doesn't have ulterior motives, and she's never, ever, felt this way about any other date or guy she's been with. Besides Neal, but Neal is long gone and she's learned to deal with that.

 

Instead of turning away and denying him of his thoughtful planning, she ends up smiling and nodding. "We can do that." Whether it's a date or not, she doesn't really care.

 

Killian immediately lights up, an excitement that she feels similarly as he offers her a hand.

 

And she takes it.

 

&&.

 

They've been skating in circles for twenty minutes now, talking about nothing in particular. The topics jump and jump, and Killian tells her stuff about his brother. "Volunteering here wasn't something I had initially planned, believe it or not. But, the children are rather big fans of me, so I can't let them down," he explains, casually gliding across the ice next to her. "My brother told me to do it."

 

"Yeah, those kids are one enthusiastic bunch," she murmurs, knowing exactly what he means from all that she's already spectated. "And why did you brother want you to do it?"

 

Killian chuckles and shakes his head, glancing at her for a brief moment. "Wanted me to stop sulking around my bloody apartment. Said it could perhaps attract a woman my way. I told him he was ridiculous, but I'm personally rather attached to all those little ones now instead." He shrugged. " _And_ I've got you around."

 

Maybe she should feel offended, she's been lured into his trap, but he's genuinely enjoying his time with those group of kids, and she can't help but feel her heart swell. Literally _swell_. And Emma, she doesn't have her heart swell and swoon over a man, yet here she is.

 

"What could cause you to sulk?"

 

"A breakup," he bluntly states. "Should've saw it coming, really, but I believe I'm mostly over it now."

 

"You should thank you brother, then," Emma suggests, though she says it with more of a teasing little tone than anything else.

 

He laughs, nudging her just lightly, but she almost loses her balance anyway. Killian's arm wraps around her waist to prevent her from falling. "Well, believe me, I've thanked him on multiple occasions." His voice is quiet, but she hears him.

 

They stop and they're standing there so _close_ , and she swears her heart is racing 100 miles per hour. Emma looks up at him with a curious face, but he's smiling down at her, a few stray dark hairs sticking out from underneath his beanie, and she wants to push them back and run her hands through his hair (for some reason, she's got a feeling that his hair is soft). She knows this familiar feeling bubbling warmly inside of her. She's in love (or at least falling in love) with a guy she's literally been hanging out with casually.

 

(To be fair, she's spent a lot of time talking to him on the days she volunteers, which has typically been weekly.)

 

While her confused looks dissolves into something of a smile - she thinks it's a smile - she tilts her head up a bit and he's tilting down, and their lips are unbelievably close until she feels a bump at the back of her legs. It's safe to say she falls forward, taking Killian with her.

 

"Bloody he -" his words are cut off with a grunt from the impact to the cold, hard ice, and she hopes to God she hasn't broken his tailbone or spine.

 

And she was _just_ about to kiss him (talk about impeccable timing). Emma curses, her voice muffled against his jacket as she lifts her head off from where it fell onto his shoulder, noticing a little boy on the ice, too.

 

Oh, talk about impeccable timing to be accidentally _cockblocked_ by a boy who looks no older than eight years old.

 

She groans as she tries to roll herself off of Killian, but he seems rather adamant with keeping his arm around her waist. Pressed up to him. Emma's surprised with herself that she hasn't freaked out yet, not that she's never been pressed up to a man like this, laying on top of one, but this is _Killian_ , the guy who cleared out most of the rink for _her_ , the one who gave her the choice of an impromptu date and she's so -

 

"You okay?"

 

His voice breaks through her thoughts and she looks up at him. "Y - yeah, I'm fine. It'd be nice if you could let me off of you, though." The words sound weird when it rolls off her tongue.

 

"Oh." It's like he didn't even notice his arm around her. "Aye, my apologies."

 

They stumble their way to standing up and the boy apologies until the father catches up to him, picking the child up. "I'm so sorry about that," the man says, "I let go of his hand for a second and -"

 

"No, no, it's okay," she quickly interrupts, shaking her head. It's sort of okay. That moment had been perfect for their first kiss, she _knows_. Wait, first kiss. She wants more than one kiss. There goes a 'fleeting crush' notion. "Right, Killian?"

 

"Aye, it's fine. Happens more often than not," he says, his hand resting on his lower back. She can tell he's rubbing his back.

 

When all apologies and talk finally ends and it's just them again, she opens her mouth to say something, but Killian beats her to the chase.

 

"Although I'm thankful that Amy had run into you that time," he begins, dropping his hand from his back, "I'm not so sure I feel the same this time around."

 

Emma's lips lift into a smile and she laughs. "You know what...I think that's enough skating for tonight. We can maybe go out for a quick drink?"

 

"Emma Swan, are _you_ asking me out on a date this -"

 

There's no time for him to finish speaking this time around, no banter and sarcastic remarks, not when she presses her lips firmly against his, feeling herself melt against him as his arms wrap around her, hugging her closely against him - as close as it can possibly get with their jackets pushing against each other - but _damn_ , his lips are soft. Both their lips are a little cold from the chilly ice rink they're at, but she likes the way he kisses, likes _him_. Killian kisses her with a sort of passion that meshes with gentleness. She's never been kissed like that.

 

Emma pulls away, catching her breath slowly, as her nose presses against his a bit, their foreheads hovering against each other, and she's smiling like a total lovestruck idiot, and she _hates_ but _loves_ this new feeling settling in the pit of her stomach.

 

At some point, Killian had crawled deep beneath her skin, through her bones, all the way to her heart, and made himself a home there and she hadn't even noticed until just a few minutes ago.

 

"Is that a yes?"

 

He grins, being a total smug jerk. "Of course, I'll accompany you on a... _non-date_."


	91. pen and paper and love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> starting my 3k followers celebration thing over on tumblr (it's actually been like a week, i've just been terribly sick for like two weeks now).

She’s doing a complete sweep of her apartment. It’s been a good few months since she’s been single and living on her own again, so the least she can do is make sure _he_ took everything along with him. Though she’s certain he did. He’s always been the organized type and he wouldn’t leave anything laying around that he’d forget, otherwise he’d come and get it back.

 

Though given they didn’t end on the best terms (blaming herself), she’s not so sure he’d bother to come ask for it after what she put him through.

 

Checking beneath her bed, her brows furrow when she finds a box. It’s not something she’s seen before, so she reaches out, her hand curling to the back and pushing it out from beneath the bed. She coughs and shakes her head away from the dust that’s flying up, waving her hand around to get the dust to settle away. This box has never been seen by her before. Why the _hell_ does it exist? Maybe he did forget something after all.

 

She gets a cloth and wipes the thing off with all the disgusting dust that’s settled onto it. She inhales a deep breath, sitting on the edge of her bed, wondering if this box next to her is worth opening.

 

_What if it’s something he never wanted me to see? That’s why it’s been under the bed and out of sight, right?_

 

Emma reasons with herself for a fair while, catching her bottom lip between her teeth and chewing nervously, yet curiously. She knows where he lives...she helped him move out...a bit. Not a lot, but she does know where he lives and she can simply go there and return the box, no questions asked. She can ignore the interior of it and just...leave it on his doorstep. Emma doesn’t need to see what’s inside.

 

Or maybe she does.

 

The curiosity gets the best of her and she inhales another deep and long breath before letting it out. Her fingers trail the edge of the box. It’s a delicately carved piece of wood. Her fingers eventually stop and she holds the box with one hand to keep it in place and uses her other to lift the lid up.

 

All there is -

 

It’s papers.

 

Tilting her head to the side slightly, she eyes the papers. They’re all neatly folded, stacked up and on top of each other. She can see there’s ink on the other side, some writing having bled through or just because the paper isn’t very thick and thus, the light shines, and she can see a bit of the dark ink. Emma swallows thickly and picks up the first one.

 

Unfolding it carefully, she looks at it.

 

_Letter # 1_

_March 10, 2014_

 

_Dear Swan,_

 

_You don’t know me yet. Or, well, I think you don’t know me yet. I’ve been a bit of an observer for a couple weeks now and I’ve yet to have the courage to go up and introduce myself. As you can see, whenever you end up reading this (I’m hoping you’ll know me by then), I’m a hopeless romantic. Is that, perhaps, too straightforward? I hope I’m not being far too blunt...and I hope this isn’t far too antique of a way to be expressing my feelings, but I’ve always been told to be a gentleman, and what better way to be one by writing letters? I’m the newest resident of your apartment, not that you probably care or, let alone, notice, but I’ve indeed noticed you. And I certainly do care about meeting and getting to know you._

 

_I pray that by you reading this, you don’t find me as some sort of mentally insane, yet gentlemanly, creeper. I merely need a way to let out my own steam and I’ve always had an immense love for writing. There’s simply something about the way I can scrawl a bunch of words out onto paper and put my emotions and thoughts into words that actually mean something. Though, I’m not going to divulge far too much into that passion of mine since I believe (very hopefully) you’ll one day - when I’m less of a nervous bloke - know that I enjoy the craft of writing._

 

 _I’ve always saw a little of myself in you, even though we haven’t interacted. (I’m really setting off alarms in your head, aren’t I?)_ -

 

She needs a moment to breathe. Her heart is literally pounding against her ribcage and feels like it’s going to explode. Her mind is swimming through these words of his, his stupid eloquence and expansive vocabulary and fancy handwriting. Emma can imagine him saying this aloud, not that he’d ever go off on a huge speech to serenade her with love, but she...she can’t _believe_ he’s written a letter to her before they even _met_.

 

_\- I must confess, however, I am simply a man pining (not sure how I managed this, really) after a woman who hasn’t taken any action in acknowledging my presence (not even a single glance my way; I’m rather wounded). As unfortunate as that is, I accept it for what it is and shall remain patient for the rest of my time living here in this building, or at least, for as long as I may end up knowing you. Of course, I’m not certain that I’ll know you, or get close to you (a man’s wishes are his own wishes, after all), but I will hold onto my string of hope for however long I must._

 

_I’ve always been told something before, and I intend to follow that certain statement, and as much as I want to reveal that here, it’s more of a secret. Something for...later, I suppose. (If there is a later.)_

 

_Sincerely,_

_Killian Jones_

 

Her hands are shaking as she folds the letter back up and sets it aside. She wants to reread his words again, wants to imagine him saying these things or handing her this box, but then she notices that there’s a _lot_ of letters in the box. With one more gulp, rubbing her forehead, she decides she’s going to go through everything.

 

Every last letter.

 

Even if her heart breaks all over again, because she’s a masochist of some sort, obviously, and she wants to reread the words of the man she loved.

 

Loved.

 

&&.

 

_April 17, 2014_

 

_May 21, 2014_

 

_June 18, 2014_

 

There’s a letter from each month and year. And over time, the more they actually got to know each other, it went from _Dear Swan_ , to _My Dearest Swan,_ to _My love_.

 

_September 05, 2015_

 

_October 12, 2015_

 

_October 31, 2015_

 

_November 1, 2015_

 

_November 16, 2015_

 

The entry ends there. November 16, 2015. That’s when he moved out officially. That’s when she officially had them end on their relationship.

 

&&.

 

The letter in her hand dated _November 16, 2015_ makes her heart feel like it’s being stung by a needle (or five hundred of them).

 

Initial reaction: shove the box into the back of her closet. Grab a glass of wine and sit down. Perhaps finish the entire bottle of wine. And another bottle. Wake up with an intense hangover. Ignore the box of letters and never see it again.

 

It takes her a few moments to compose herself. Emma broke up with him because she was scared, because she was scared of him leaving and hurting her, so she beat him to it. Now that she thinks back to it, she wonders how _stupid_ she really is. With her idiotic reasonings, she hurt herself and she hurt him, and most of all, she hurt _them_. Together. She hurt them and she regrets it, and she wonders why she ended it in the first place. Not from her pathetic excuses, but really, _why_?

 

She ends up in front of his door of his apartment at three in the morning (excuse her for having gone through multiple letters of his because of her once-in-a-lifetime sentimental ass in this case), wondering why she broke up with him. Why she even initially thought it was a good idea in the first place (and why she thinks _this_ is a good idea, too).

 

One hand holding the box, the other knocks on his door. Emma raps at it a few times, impatiently, even though she really should consider coming by another time. It’s three in the _fucking morning_ -

 

“Who the bloody hell -”

 

He’s in those light grey sweatpants and a t-shirt that’s rumpled up and she thinks it’s absolutely adorable (she’s still biased, clearly). She remembers the sight, and _fuck_ , it’s a sight for sore eyes.

 

“Swan?”

 

Emma knows he’s always called her that, but…

 

“Uh. Hi.” She clears her throat. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

 

“It’s three in the morning, lass, I think that was meant for a recipe of disaster.” He sighs, running his hand through his unruly hair. “Do you want to come in?”

 

“Yeah, uhm, sorry, and yes.” She’s so stupidly nervous, she hates this and she hates _herself_ , and God damn it.

 

Emma notices his eyes look down at the box she’s holding, but he steps aside still and she walks in, removing her shoes by the doorway since he’s always been the one to stay clean and all. It’s just like old times…a throwback to their first few months of being friends.

 

Eventually, she’s not surprised he asks the question. “Why are you here, Swan?”

 

She purses her lips, thinking about if she can find the right words. Looking down at the box, she closes her eyes before she builds up some sort of courage to face him. “I’m...sorry. About...everything. What I did,” she says in one go, the words coming out a bit breathier than she first intended. “Our breakup and how terribly I treated you. My stupid reasons and excuses that weren’t excuses.”

 

“Emma -”

 

“And I wish I could’ve found these earlier,” she mumbles, holding up the box. “The letters, I mean. Maybe then -”

 

“Emma.”

 

This time she stops talking and looks at him. He’s closer now, just a couple feet away from her. “Yeah?”

 

He nods toward the box. “Did you read the letters?”

 

“I did,” she says with a nod. “I didn’t know what was in them when I found them and I just - I wanted to know and then return it to you but -”

 

“They were meant for you to find,” he interrupts bluntly. “Not that I wanted it to be a reason for us to...get back together or anything.” He shakes his head. “No, I didn’t have any motive of that sort, but I _hoped_ it could be a keepsake.” He smiles, briefly, sadly, and looks down at the box again. “A reminder of our good days, despite the bad.”

 

“How could you _not_ tell me?” she asks, her one available hand clenching into a fist. She’s not angry, she’s just frustrated. Frustrated with herself, mostly. “I would have rethought everything.”

 

He laughs, and it sounds a bit hollow, but she doesn’t hear any resentment or him ridiculing her. “No, you probably wouldn’t have, actually. I think you would have set off like another time bomb, had I told you.” Killian’s tongue peeks through in between his lips and he shakes his head again, stepping forward. “Did you come here to return that?”

 

She looks down and back up, and she’s not sure _why_ she came. Sure, she came to apologize, but all of what’s following after...

 

Well, she has no God damn clue what she’s doing at all.

 

“Yes,” she responds, “I think. Mostly to apologize, but -”

 

“Keep them,” he tells her. “They’re yours. They were meant for you to read and keep. I’ve no purpose of keeping letters I wrote for someone else.” _I once loved_. The words aren’t said, but she thinks she can hear that fitting perfectly at the end of that sentence.

 

Suddenly, she feels all this relief drain from her, a weight off her shoulders, but her heart still feels heavy yet hollow. There’s something missing - someone - and she has a fairly good idea of who because he’s standing right in front of her.

 

It’s been months since they saw each other, months since she’s kissed or hugged or slept in the same bed with him.

 

But, it’s only been days since she’s thought of him. Actually, not really.

 

Hours, minutes, _seconds_. She misses him so much, it’s hurting her heart. And she then realizes she never _loved_ him. She _loves_ him. She does, and she really hates being alone, and the last few months has been her realizing how cold and empty the bed is beside her, or how empty her fridge is, or how stupidly good looking he can be in the morning even with his bedhead.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Aye, I’m sure.”

 

“I mean I can just place these down and leave -”

 

“Bloody hell, Swan, just keep them!”

 

Emma stares at him, surprised at him raising his voice. She almost visibly _shrinks_. Her shoulders slump and she just nods. “Okay,” she mumbles, glancing away and ignoring any possible eye contact. “I’ll keep them.” She does and she doesn’t want to keep them. Emma wants to keep them as a reminder, as a memory, but she doesn’t because it brings up feelings that she wants to ignore, that she wants to push away -

 

Killian’s loud sigh flushes through the open-spaced apartment, catching her attention.

 

“Are you tired?”

 

That’s...sudden.

 

She licks her lips and nods. She’s had an entire night of reading letters written by the man in front of him, the man she still happens to love, even though he doesn’t seem to reciprocate.

 

Killian nods. “You can stay here. In my room.”

 

“I can go home on my own.”

 

“Yes, love, but it’s three in the morning and you’re here anyway, and I’ve always been a gentleman, you know that.”

 

He offers her a hand, which seems out of place, but she takes it.

 

&&.

 

Morning comes and she wakes up, momentarily confused of where she is. Though she can’t get it wrong. Everything smells like him.

 

There’s the smell of breakfast and she swears this isn’t real, this is a dream, but when she pads down the hall and into the open space, he’s standing there by the stove, drinking on a mug of something that smells like coffee.

 

(He likes his coffee.)

 

“Morning, Swan,” he greets with a little smile. He’s not angry with her. Not raising his voice like last night, though she figures that was nothing. “Coffee?”

 

Emma can’t find herself to reject him. Not after everything else she’s done, but she’s getting a whole lot of mixed signals. “Sure,” she says.

 

While he’s pouring her a mug and mixing in the appropriate amount of sugar and milk (which he seems to remember), he begins to talk. “I’m not trying to _woo_ you all over again or anything,” he explains, setting the mug in front of her. “Though...Emma, I do - and I won’t sugarcoat a single thing, so don’t run out on me - I do miss you.”

 

Her heart skips a beat. “I miss you, too.”

 

His smile is a little wider this time around. It reaches his eyes. “Then perhaps we can work things out over breakfast?”

 

Just looking at him, this time, she can tell that he feels the same. They clearly feel similarly enough to the point of missing each other.

 

“I’d...yeah, I’d like that.”

 

Maybe coming here at three in the morning wasn’t so bad of an idea at all.

 

&&.

 

(He still writes letters.

 

She sees him hunched up at his desk, pen in hand, finger tapping the desk on the occasion. Emma’s told him he doesn’t need to write those letters anymore, but all he does is insist.)

 

(Things are better now. Beyond better.)

  
(He’s the pen and she’s the paper. They go well with each other, after all.)


	92. rocky revisited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more 3k follower fics. they're coming slowly (may + june is busy school months for me!)
> 
> (title courtesy of lenfaz!! thank you, love <3)

It’s been the _third_ fucking time she’s missed her perp.

 

Third time’s the charm and all, yet she’s not having any sort of luck when it comes to chasing down a so called “family man” who left his children and wife hanging.

 

There’s only so many things she can do to let out steam. Of course, one is take a nice shower, hot or cold (depends on the mood by the time she gets home), but the other is to just punch. Punch things...though more like an actual punching bag instead of something like a lamp, though she preferably would _love_ to punch her perp in the face at the moment.

 

Perhaps the next time she runs into the guy she’ll do so.

 

It’s late though. Nearing midnight she drags herself into the nearest gym in the city (she’s a frequent visitor), her feet taking her directly toward the area where the punching bags are typically set up. Not a lot of people are around, but she’s glad this a 24/7 gym otherwise she’d have to likely drive an extra couple blocks to find herself a gym.

 

Besides, she’s friends with the owner here and she would much rather be in an environment she trusts than a random gym that she has no clue about. It’s not, it’s really not, much of an excuse, but Emma’s always been one for excuses. From day one, it’s been excuses to more excuses and then to running.

 

Long story short, it’s the orphan stuff, but she’s never been fond of discussing that particular topic, let alone explaining everything. All one needs to know is she’s now a bail bondsperson and she’ll kick ass if need be.

 

Dropping her bag, she pulls out her phone and earbuds, stuffing said earbuds into her ears and then promptly blasting music that’ll surely burst her ears out one day and leave her deaf. Tonight is simply one of _those_ nights.

 

First she stretches. It’s always better to stretch. She does a twenty minute stretch (that’s more intense than usual, blame her pissed off mood).

 

Emma inhales a couple deep breaths as she grabs the gloves from inside of her bag and set them aside before tugging out the wraps for her hands. It takes her a few minutes to get those wrapped onto her hands comfortably but tightly before tugging her gloves on. Boxing lets out plenty of her pent of fuel and she may as well by this point.

 

Rolling her neck around, it takes her less than a couple of seconds before she’s throwing out her jabs at the heavy bag in front of her.

 

And, well, millions of thoughts run through her mind, though most of them is just imagining her perps face on the bag and letting the movements flow as if she’s really about to punch the guy in the face (save for the fact she’s punching a lot of times). In every other case, she’s already zoned into her own world, forgotten where she is, except for her purpose.

 

Going at it for a few minutes rather aggressively is wearing her out, but she doesn’t care. Emma pushes on, at least until there’s a tap at her shoulder that makes her instinctively turn around and make a sharp punch right at someone’s face.

 

Oh. _Shit_.

 

The person - a man - groans, and she blinks a couple of times once she’s lowered her arms.

 

“What the hell?”

 

He says something but she can’t hear him.

 

He motions at unplugging things from his ears and then she remembers she has music blasting off her iPod. She removes her gloves and then removes her earbuds. The guy is rubbing his face, though, and she really hopes she didn’t break his nose or something.

 

But, damn, who interrupts someone who’s furiously punching at a bag? Isn’t it common sense to leave someone like that alone?

 

“I bet that hurt,” she says slowly, “I’m...sorry, I didn’t mean to punch you, but in a way, it’s your fault for surprising me like that.”

 

The guy pinches at his nose, scrunching it a bit before he lowers his hand down to his side. “Apologies for surprising you then,” he retorts. It almost sounds a bit snarky and sarcastic and maybe she doesn’t regret punching him in the face. “Though I’m not sorry for interrupting your session. I hope you do realize that bag hasn’t done anything to you to deserve such hostile treatment.”

 

Emma furrows her brows and narrows her eyes at the stranger. He has a point, but she does, too. “I’m letting off steam.”

 

“That angrily? I’ve got five cents to throw into the ring and say there could be another way to address your fury.” He’s smiling and she, _damn_ , she wants to punch him in the face for real. “There’s a thing called talking.”

 

Suddenly, she just blurts out, “With you?”

 

He laughs, his hand rubbing at his jaw over his scruff. “No, I wouldn’t insist myself upon you like that, though I have been told I’m a good listener.”

 

Why she should trust this handsome stranger with messy dark hair, who seems to be sweating from his own workout, is beyond her. Emma takes a moment to assess the situation, glancing over him to see he’s in basketball shorts and a t-shirt that hugs his body like it’s built for him ( _Jesus Christ, Swan, you’re not supposed to be checking out hot men at the gym_ ).

 

&&.

 

It turns out his name is Killian Jones and he _is_ a good listener.

 

Save for the fact she punched him on accident before they could properly get well acquainted, of course, though she’s still going to blame him for scaring her like that while she was heatedly punching the heavy bag.

 

What she doesn’t understand is why he cares...but she doesn’t have half the mind to ask because she’s stupidly mesmerized by his blue eyes, toothy smile, and his low chuckle. Which are all first hand signs of having a crush already.

 

And she’s known him for - what? - an hour.

 

“I only ever see you here when you’re relatively angry.”

 

Emma raises an eyebrow. “Do you make it a deal to creep someone out by saying that?”

 

“No,” he says, “no, it’s just that not many people come here this late. I’m bound to notice, of course.” Killian smiles briefly. “But, did the talking help?”

 

At first, she wants to say no, but that’s lying and she’s been told by her friends she’s terrible at lying. “Yeah, it did.” Stretching her legs out a bit and leaning back on the bench, hands pressing against the edge, she sighs. “I actually feel a lot better than just...punching it out.”

 

She can see his grin from her peripheral vision. “Violence was never the answer, love.”

 

Emma scrunches her face up a bit and punches his arm. “Shut up.”

 

“First of all, ouch.” He’s exaggerating. It’s better than when she punched him in the face earlier (and she can tell it’s bruising up). “Second of all, I’m always open to be a listening ear next time.”

 

Maybe she just does take up that offer next time. Except, he’s standing behind the bag and keeping it steady while she talks and punches simultaneously.

 

At least she doesn’t punch him in the face again.

  
Yet.


	93. i swear it will get easier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, I was a terrible friend because I wrote this for @cutieodonoghue‘s (tumblr. aka colormyheartred on ao3/ffnet) birthday, but it’s been literal months since then and I struggled with it so much, but I finally finished it and hopefully it’s okay???? 
> 
> @piratesails gets credit for the original prompt.

 

If pining after a guy ( _ assuming _ it’s a male) online who’s been sending her Anonymous messages on Tumblr using the cheesiest - but to be honest - cutest, pick up lines is weird...then sue her.

 

It’s not like  _ Emma Swan _ gets many messages on Tumblr ever, but she’s had an influx of messages in her inbox recently that’s probably from the same guy, but every time she reads one of the messages, she finds herself with a stupid smile that cannot be erased for the next five minutes.

 

Or for the rest of the day.

 

(And sometimes...yeah, she doesn’t respond to his messages because she wants to keep them to herself and go back and read them when she has a shitty day. 

 

She may be a little selfish.)

 

She simply runs her own small personal blog that’s only ever used to reblog photography and stupid meme posts. Sometimes food, too, because food is of big importance.

 

The thing is, perhaps she’s posted a selfie once, but that’s been long buried for a good few months now, and by  _ few _ , she means two. That in itself is not a lot. It’s like - 60 days.

 

Except, in all honesty, her blog isn’t just for her to reblog things and like them as she sees fit. She’s majoring in photography so she’s been taking a lot of photographs the moment an opportunity arises. When they say that  _ a picture can convey a million words _ , it’s not a lie. Emma loves her photography, especially of nature and well, she’s also been quite in love with the sea for a long time, and taking pictures of a beautiful horizon or catching the waves splashing against the docks or the water easing up to shore on a beach is something she cannot resist.

 

Emma Swan is also a lover of the autumn season. She loves the colours of the leaves and the somewhat chilly breeze that needs her to bundle up a little bit. She loves that she can snap a photo with her DSLR of the seasons shifting. She loves that she can manually adjust her settings, taking the time to change aperture sizes, shutter speeds, and one of the most frustrating but best things, focusing.

 

Essentially, she’s someone who will take pictures of anything that catches her eye. Anything of even the smallest interest.

 

And it seems that someone, this secret admirer of hers, has a small interest in  _ her _ . Unless he sends cheeky pickup lines to every girl on the internet - wow, she hopes that’s not the case.

 

College is a lot stressful than she originally thought, but thank God she chose to major in something she never gets tired of. Originally, Emma didn't grow up in a nice household, at least, for five years of her life. The Swans kicked her out after realizing they were having their own child, failed families here and there before her  _ real _ parents found her. If it wasn’t for her real parents who found her...who knows where she would be now.

 

It’s not to say she doesn’t...that she doesn’t still hold a little bit of a negative thought here and there over the fact she was abandoned in the first place, but at least she has a family, and that’s all she can possibly ask for.

 

At first with her messages, it’s one or two about her photography and how nice it is. Then it trails off to the pick up lines. And damn, is she impressed again.

 

&&.

 

It’s been a hell of a day and she is just about ready to go back to her dorm, drop into bed, and probably fall asleep.

 

She nearly forgets to check Tumblr for a bit, and luckily for her, her dorm mate is out and thus cannot make fun of her for any sort of blush that is going to rise to her cheeks if she finds a pickup line sitting in her inbox. Frankly, Emma is very aware of the feelings she gets whenever she reads one of the lines. 

 

After closing the door shut behind her, dropping her bag on the floor, and pulling her laptop out before climbing onto her single bed, she is ready to see what is waiting for her this time around. 

 

As she waits for Tumblr to load, she looks at her Canon DSLR sitting on her desk before her attention jumps right back to the screen in front of her, seeing the little “1” next to the inbox icon. It’s safe to say she gets shamelessly excited when she hovers her cursor above it and  _ clicks _ . Her eyes automatically read the message immediately, and yep, she feels the expected heat to rise to her cheeks and the need to chuckle to herself.

 

_ Are you tired? Because you’ve been running through my mind all day. _

 

Emma debates responding to this, but she is absolutely going to respond to it because if she gets as much pleasure just from seeing the little “1” next to her messages, then he must feel the same if he sees a response.

 

It takes her a few moments to figure out some smartass response to give him - it’d be too easy if she always gives him some flirtatious response back. (Technically all of her responses are somewhat flirtatious.)

 

_ As a matter of fact, I am tired…but running through your mind? Don’t think that’s quite physically possible is it? I mean, perhaps on a more metaphorical level, except I’ve been running around school campus all day and haven’t gotten to do a single thing such as rest or take photos which you must obviously be aware about it being a great hobby of mine.  _

 

Whether she adds more or not takes her a few minutes to decides before she ultimately shakes her head and clicks on the publish button. If he wants more, he’ll have to ask for it by continuing the pickup lines, or, he’ll have to eventually reveal himself and then they can actually have proper conversations with each other.

 

Except he must have to run out of pickup lines one day, doesn’t he? Emma thinks that there’s no justifiable reason that he could have so many stupid pickup lines without doing something like googling them. And for her case, she hopes that he doesn’t google his pickup lines, but if it’s because he runs out of pickup lines at some point and starts googling them because of being low on stock, then perhaps she can give him a sticker for the effort of wanting to keep up the routine he exhibits every day.

 

Within minutes of publishing that ask, she gets the notification for another one which she promptly clicks, reminding herself to go back through her likes later so she can set things up into her queue or actually just reblog them on the spot.

 

_ You wound me, love. What have my pickup lines and myself ever done to you before? _

 

For starters, they’ve made her smile ever since...but she can’t possibly tell him that, can she? For all she knows, he could be a  _ murderer _ that’s baiting her into some deep, dark, evil trap of his. It’s the internet, she’s allowed to jump to some rather drastic conclusions, right?

 

Or not.

 

She’ll respond to him later.

 

&&.

 

It’s not exactly something she expects when she checks Tumblr a few hour laters, finding four more asks in her inbox that are  _ all _ pickup lines.

 

_ If you were the words on a page, you’d be the fine print. _

 

For God’s  _ sake _ , she doesn’t even know what to think anymore.

 

_ I hope you know CPR because you take my breath away. _

 

_ Is there an airport nearby or is that my heart taking off? _

 

_ My doctor says I’m lacking vitamin U. _

 

That’s it. She’s going to go insane if he keeps spamming her with these pickup lines. She needs to know who he is, what his Tumblr url is so she can go follow him and stalk him (not in  _ that _ kind of way). Emma cannot sit around wondering who this mysterious admirer is.

 

It is, however, her lucky day.

 

The next message comes and she refreshes -

 

It’s sent by  _ thejollyroger _ .

 

Emma’s not quite sure but to make of it, but the message says something about if he’s offended her somehow and she just laughs and shakes her head, but then she immediately goes and clicks on his profile picture which is of some ship. His description doesn’t give much detail, but his name is Killian, he’s twenty-one, British, and he clearly loves the sea - only from the few posts she can scroll and see.

 

By the time she returns, there’s another two messages.

 

_ oh, bloody hell, I forgot to click anonymous didn’t I? _

 

_ I did it again...but I suppose my identity has long been exposed and I might as well stop humiliating myself. I’ve never the guts to ever message you properly, however I’ve no choice now, do I? Hi, I’m Killian. _

 

In all honestly, she’s  _ definitely _ pining after him. 

 

_ Killian _ .

 

&&.

 

Things are different now that she knows who he is. They send messages to each other constantly, competing with each other over who can write the most in a Tumblr ask before hitting the character limit, and then they move over to sending fanmail.

 

And Ruby, being her roommate, best friend, and the popular chick, insists she  _ must _ check if he has a selfie tag to see if he’s an attractive guy.

 

And  _ holy fucking shit _ , he’s hot.

 

(Like, the sort of attractiveness that she can spot from a mile and recognize with those blue eyes, scruff, and dark mop of hair. Sure, he’s the typical tall, dark, and handsome, but  _ damn _ , there’s just some difference -)

 

“Told you.”

 

Emma chucks her pillow at Ruby.

 

&&.

 

Over the weeks they get closer through the fan mail, but eventually they get tired of sending messages back and forth through the oh, so, seamlessly crafted Tumblr messaging system, so she adds him on Skype and they talk to each other about every minute of the day they’re free. 

 

Emma gives him free reign with her phone number in return for his, and they just text each other stupid emoticons most of the time, which is really pointless. But, in most cases, it’s not because it makes her day a whole lot better to see a notification on her screen with “Killian” and a text that has three ships and a happy face.

 

So she does know his love for ships and the sea.

 

_ The Jolly Roger, you know, the ship? _

 

She rolls her eyes at the text and Ruby eyes her oddly from the spot on her bed across the room, but has a little bit of that stupid  _ smirk _ on her face - she sort of knows about this relationship Emma and Killian share.

 

(“Emma and  _ Killian _ sitting in a tree -”

 

“Ruby, shut the hell up.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Ruby hums with a wolfish grin.)

 

_ oh, right. nerd. _

 

_ I’d prefer dashing rapscallion. _

 

_ pirate? _

 

_ Scoundrel? _

 

_ pirate. _

 

_ Stubborn one, aren’t you, Emma? _

 

Well, she has  _ always _ been the stubborn, steel-headed, person in any group of friends. 

 

_ you know it. _

 

&&.

 

It’s been four months since he accidentally revealed who he was and she figured out the man behind the mask.

 

Skype messaging turns to Skype calls, and the mysterious British voice at the end, deep voice, soon turns into video calls, and it’s...it’s different to see him in action, even if it’s at the end of a laptop camera.

 

Emma finds herself rather speechless.

 

“Hi.”

 

His eyebrow raises, his lips curls into a smile, and she’s dead meat.

 

“Hello, love.”

 

Yeah, she’s royally screwed; if the blush that rises to her cheeks means anything, of course.

 

&&.

 

She is honestly terrified in one way, but in another, she finds the company of  _ Killian Jones _ quite enjoyable. It makes her day bright and, well, he easily makes her laugh and smile, but make no mistake, he’s also just as insufferable as he can be with his own stubborn head and stupid innuendos that she’s got to deal with all the time.

 

Killian’s probably got a dictionary of innuendos and pickup lines.

 

But then, it’s stupid, because, yes, she finds him attractive and likes him because he’s a great friend, but she has a crush on him that she cannot seem to suppress. And...he lives all the way across the sea. They have frustrating time differences, and long distance relationships isn’t something Emma’s very interested in. Let alone know whether or not Killian feels the same as she, even if he’s been ‘flirting’ with her for ages.

 

So they stay friends.

 

Just friends.

 

&&.

 

When it comes to the holidays and she returns back to Storybrooke, her home, and she’s not exactly prepared to run into a certain someone.

 

“ _ Emma _ ?”

 

“ _ Killian _ ?”

 

Literally bumping into him, she doesn’t understand why he’s all the way here in  _ Storybrooke _ of all places in America. She stares at him for a few moments, blinking as she drinks in the handsome man who she’s been friends with for a good five months now. Wow, she admires how he looks, but he seems just as clueless as she is.

 

His hands are resting at her waist after she bumped into him (yes,  _ she _ bumped into him), and she gulps. He’s taller than she thought, but not by that much. Enough that she’d have to tippy toe to gain some level with face-to-face.

 

“What - what are you doing  _ here _ ?” she eventually asks after much debate over all the other questions roaming through her mind.

 

Killian takes a step back, dropping his hands from her waist as one goes to rub the back of his ear; it’s sort of...cute. “Erm...my brother has a friend here. He was invited for the holidays, and, well…” He shrugs. “Here I am since my stubborn arse of a brother refused to let me stay in England by myself.”

 

“Oh.” Emma smiles, deciding that perhaps it won’t be so bad to spend some time with a friend she has yet to met in real life until now. “Welcome to Storybrooke, Killian.”

 

The nervousness and awkward air between them seems to subside. He grins, looking at her with the softest expression she’s ever seen from him before. “Thank you, love.”

  
  


&&.

 

That evening, there’s a ring at the door and she’s told to go open the door and she does -

 

“Bloody hell, Swan, you’re here, too?”

 

“This is my house.”

 

“You live here?”

 

“I mean…my parents do.”

 

“Oh, you two know each other?” the man next to Killian chimes.

 

“Uhm...yeah. I bumped into him earlier,” Emma tries to explain, glancing between the two. This is more than awkward, but she supposes it can’t be that bad once everyone is settled in for dinner. “You know, not a lot of visitors in Storybrooke. I can recognize a new face.”

 

When Emma is left alone with Killian in the living room for a bit after everyone else has gone to the kitchen to entertain themselves with preparing food, she looks at her friend who’s got a smug look on his face, and she really,  _ really _ , cannot believe what has happened. Whether it’s fate, or just pure luck, she may just be having the best holiday ever. (Sort of.)

 

Things don’t...well, she hoped their first time meeting could have been a bit more...heart felt? Emotional? Those aren’t the right terms, but she wishes it could have been under different circumstances, because she cannot deal with the eyes on her in a house full of people that she’s certain are suspicious over the way she and Killian met in the first place.

 

“You know, we can just tell them we’ve known each other for five months.”

 

“You know, they can hear us.”

 

Killian rolls his eyes at her and heaves a sigh as he leans back against the couch. “Swan, my brother is a perceptive man. We don’t look at each other like we met a mere few hours ago. I’m fairly certain your parents are skeptical, too.”

 

And he is absolutely right.

 

&&.

 

Dinner goes by fine. Of course she is seated right next to Killian, so the entire time to eat, he’s bumping his knee against hers and smirks like an evil child with a scheme up his sleeve. Emma’s mother catches on rather quickly, but Liam and her father are having a go at discussing football. Or soccer. Whatever.

 

And then she is assigned clean-up duty, and Killian volunteers to help.

 

Leave it to the ‘adults’ to leave the both of them alone.

 

It’s silence that settles between them. She doesn’t really mind the silence since it’s not as if it’s uncomfortable, but she is absolutely a jittery mess around him. Alone.

 

It’s so casual the way he brings it up.

 

“Emma? I like you.”

 

She gulps as she scrubs the dish detergent over the dishes, rinsing them off, before handing them over to him to dry them off. “I...I like you, too.”

 

“I’d have hoped so.” Killian chuckles quietly, setting dry dishes aside before taking the next one she hands him. “I didn’t want my pickup lines to have been in vain.”

 

“Yeah?” she asks softly.

 

“Yeah.”

 

She hasn’t gotten to picking up the next thing to wash yet, but her hands slip out from the yellow rubber gloves and she turns to look at the man next to him who looks at her like she’s the most precious person in the world.

 

And on instinct, she tugs him close (they’re already pretty close, anyways), and presses her lips against him. Firmly.

 

Killian reciprocates quickly, his lips moving against hers, and  _ damn it _ , he’s a hell of a good kisser, too.

 

It starts off more heated, like they don’t want to let go, but then they slow down and her lips are moving against his like they’re  _ lovers _ , and she doesn’t want to let him go. Suddenly, she’s pressed against the counter and Emma is breathing heavily against his lips - he maneuvers like he’s trying to memorize the way she kisses, but to be honest, she feels like she’s doing the same.

 

In a few days, he’ll be  _ gone _ , and -

 

She needs to cherish this.

 

They jump apart when someone clears their voice, and it’s Liam with a small smile standing by the entrance to the kitchen.

 

“Just  _ friends _ , little brother?”

 

Killian looks at Liam and then back at her, and he smiles. “Hopefully more.”

 

Emma’s biting back her smile as she stares at man who, unsurprisingly, she’s falling in love with.

 

&&.

 

She does have a portraiture assignment for class and yet she hasn’t started. Christmas is three days away, and she’s been spending a crazy amount of time with Killian.

 

As much as he makes her smile through a Skype video call or through a text message, he makes her smile even more now that they’ve met face to face. And although they haven’t established what they  _ are _ , she’s more than fine with where they currently stand. If they go any further, Emma’s not sure if she can handle it, because the more her heart falls for him, the more disappointment and sorrow she’ll feel the moment he leaves; Emma Swan is not fond of that idea.

 

“You should show me your photography,” he says.

 

That’s not something she expected out of him, but then again, he first complimented her photographs a while ago on Tumblr. “Well, uhm, I actually had another idea related to that, actually.” And it’s to have  _ him _ as her subject in the portraiture assignment. “If...that is if you’re up for it, of course.”

 

“What could possibly turn me away from your idea?” Killian grins, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Unless, you know - it’s illegal.”

 

“Nope.”

 

“So, what is it?”

 

“Can you - okay, this is a lot harder to explain than I thought.” She takes a deep breath in, and then lets it out slowly. “I have a portrait assignment, and...I thought maybe - if you’re up to it - you could...model for me?”

 

He quirks an eyebrow up with a small smirk. “ _ Model _ ?”

 

Emma rolls her eyes. “Probably not the right term, but like, act natural,” she says, attempting to clarify for him. “Storybrooke has the docks. There’s also a beach. I know you’re into that stuff, and I sort of am, too, so...do you see what I mean?”

 

“Aye, love, I do. I’d be flattered to  _ model _ for your assignment.”

 

Relief floods through her and she leans her head against his shoulder, feeling his arm tighten around her shoulders as he presses a kiss into her hair.

 

“And it’s  _ not _ modeling, Killian -”

 

Killian’s arm curls her around into his chest. “Shhh, Swan.”

 

_ Insufferable _ .

 

&&.

 

They go places.

 

Nowhere far, really, but they explore the town hand in hand. One hand holds onto the side of her camera, and he has a tripod in a bag hanging over his shoulder as they walk around. It’s nice to be doing this with someone who cares and supports her. 

 

So she has to face reality soon, face the fact he’s going to be all the way back in England, over four thousand miles away, return back to text messages, Skype calls, and maybe FaceTime, but that’s all so much more different. Those are poor substitutes to the reality of having the solid  _ person _ next to her, and she’s going to miss him. A lot.

 

Plus, she’s going to have to fill in Ruby and her parents, because she’s already been getting a butt load of looks from her Mom and Dad, and Ruby’s going to see the photos of Killian with her anyways, so yeah, she’s gonna have a whole lot on her plate.

 

They spend hours outside, finding the right locations, getting the right composition, the right timing in the day for the way she wants things to turn out especially since there’s a horizon in the background.

 

He looks broody in most of the photographs if she’s being honest.

 

There’s this one in the forest, not that traipsing through the forest was their initial intention, but getting back to the point, there’s this one photo of him under a tree and he’s looking down. The use of a larger aperture with dark lighting makes it seem quite gloomy, or like he’s self reflecting on the shitty things in his life. A little dark, but - she can’t say she doesn’t mind a bit of dark.

 

Frankly, Emma doesn’t need this many photos of him, but taking some extras doesn’t hurt.

 

By the time she gets home, it’s nearing dinner time, and she’s exhausted. Killian has been making sure she doesn’t fall flat on her face and break the camera hanging around her neck, the one she got for her birthday a couple years ago.

 

“Well, today has been fun.”

 

“It has,” he agrees softly with a smile. “Hopefully all those photos turned out the way you wanted them to.”

 

She chuckles. “I’m sure your  _ devilishly handsome _ face is fine.”

 

“Even you agree that I’m a dashing man, am I not?”

 

“Hmm...” She shrugs. “Basic, to be honest.”

 

The way his lips drop into a straight line and eyes narrow at her sort of scares Emma. “That’s rather insulting to a man’s ego, Swan.”

 

“And what’re you going to do -”

 

He tugs her close for a kiss, surprising her. Emma is stunned for a few moments before she actually responds, but it’s not fair because the camera dangling around her neck distances them from each other.

 

Not that it matters, really, since he pulls himself away from the kiss, smiling at her. “I was going to do that.”

 

“You two are making a real scene out here.”

 

Both of them turn heads simultaneously to find a smirking Liam Jones, big brother teaser extraordinaire. He’s been trying to get at Killian ever since he caught the two of them kissing in the kitchen, and she’s glad she doesn’t have a sibling to do that...but if she’s being honest, Liam already feels like a brother to her.

 

Killian turns to look at her. “Well, love, it seems that I will be staying at your house tonight.”

 

“There’s a football match,” Liam says, “if you think I’d be missing out on that game or be watching it on my own, you’d be sorely mistaken.” The elder brother turns his head and looks inside before turning back. “Now hurry up, your parents are tired of you two eating each other’s faces outside instead of being civil in the living room where they can control you.” 

 

“There’s no way they saw that,” she mutters, stepping into the house with an unamused look on her face, feeling Killian’s hand at her lower back.

 

“Oh no, lass, they just assumed,” Liam responds with a chuckle. “You’ve perceptive parents.”

 

“Is  _ everyone _ in this house perceptive?”

 

“I’d say so,” Killian says as he closes the door behind him. “I warned you that my brother was. It seems your parents are, too.”

 

“Or you two are not quite as covert as you think you are.”

 

They both stare daggers at Liam, but that man doesn’t budge with his smirk.

 

&&.

 

The day of Christmas comes quickly.

 

One moment she’s receiving gifts, the next she’s waking up feeling like hell from the amount of scotch she had the previous night.

 

(She’s not a drinker, so of course having a certain amount ruins her to hell and back.)

 

Killian leaves in less than a day, and she can’t say she’s entirely surprised about it. He told her their departure day, and every morning and night, she’s been wishing that she could just...go back in time and relive the time she got to spend with him. Except, now, she doesn’t get that chance with him because he’s  _ leaving _ in less than 24 hours, and Emma is less than prepared to see him go.

 

They don’t really spend the next few hours doing much. It seems that she’s uninterested in leaving the house and he’s the one who won’t leave her alone. She can’t tell if it’s just the hangover still punishing her or because she’s just sad he’s going to go.

 

She does, however, somehow redeem herself from any drunken stupor she managed to have last night.

 

“You’re aware it won’t be the last you’ll see of me, right?”

 

“Yeah, but…” Emma tapers off, frowning slightly when she thinks about it again. Still, they’ve yet to define what they are. Are they a package? A thing? Like an actual  _ relationship _ \- romantic relationship?

 

“You’re much of an open book, Swan, and I can tell you’re bloody  _ terrified _ of me leaving,” he suddenly states, his hand taking hers and entwining their fingers together. He squeezes her hand gently, a form of reassurance. “I would like to work this out with you. And aye, I know long distance is difficult, but you know what they say. Distance makes the heart grow fonder.” Killian smiles sweetly, leans forward, and presses a kiss to her forehead.

 

Emma scoffs. “You’re one for clichés now?” It’s a poor attempt, really, at changing the course of the topic.

 

“Oh darling, have you  _ seen _ my pickup lines? I am a walking book of clichés.” Though he knows. She knows he knows. “Do you trust me?”

 

She blinks.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And I, you. We’ll work this out, Emma. Together.”

 

And she thinks she believes him.

 

&&.

 

It’s not so much of a goodbye, she hopes, but then it honestly feels like one. They have their bags and suitcases, already thrown into the back trunk of the car. David is patting Liam on the back and Killian is just staring at Emma like he’s trying to memorize her for one last time.

 

“I’ll miss you.”

 

She smiles sadly, nodding. “I’ll miss you, too.”

 

And so they share a hug, a hug that feels like  _ goodbye _ , and then he pulls back, forehead pressing against hers, before he leans in for that kiss, the kiss that feels like goodbye, too.

 

“See you soon?” he murmurs, his lips grazing against hers, voice so soft like he’s already fading away into the distance.

 

Emma, being an emotional wreck already inside, just nods (barely nods), watching as he steps away and into the car rental Liam has, his older brother getting into the driver's seat promptly after saying a farewell to Emma.

 

While she watches the Jones brothers drive off, her Dad standing behind her with a hand on her shoulder, she turns around and hugs her father.

 

“You’ll see him again.”

 

Everyone seems to say that.

 

&&.

 

It’s her last night, too, but she doesn’t exactly spend her night sleeping like she probably should be.

 

It’s the photos. She looks through the photographs on her camera, occasionally breaking out into a small fit of chuckles or just smiling cheekily to herself as she remembers the day she took these with him, which is really not long ago. Emma remembers that he was such a willing participant, remembers the few moments after showing him some of them where he made some egotistical joke that caused the both of them to laugh for a solid few moments until their cheeks and their stomachs hurt.

 

There are so many pictures of him.

 

Not enough of  _ them _ .

 

&&.

 

Ruby sees the pictures almost instantaneously. She also pulls out her own phone in record speed and snaps a picture before Emma can even move a muscle. Sometimes she wonders if she’s got some animalistic reflexes or something. It’s sort of ridiculous, and by sort of, she means  _ really _ ridiculous.

 

It takes all of her strength to push Ruby away and say it’s for her project, but she knows. Of course this woman knows. It’s  _ Ruby _ . She’s a wolf, she can nose her way into everything and anything.

 

“Okay, okay,  _ fine _ .”

 

“Oh, yes, tell me!”

 

“We’re friends.”

 

Ruby tilts her head to the side, hands on her hips as she glares at her. “Friends?”

 

“Friends,” Emma confirms.

 

“You mean  _ more _ than friends.”

 

_ Yes _ . “No.”

 

She doesn’t want to talk about it, she doesn’t want to tell Ruby and get her hopes up (God knows how devoted she is to Emma’s romantic life), and letting Ruby know means setting up a chain reaction that could, in all actuality, end in a track wreck.

 

But, denial is just the first step to all of this. Perhaps this phase will just pass.

 

&&.

 

It doesn’t.

 

She spends the next three weeks literally  _ brooding _ . She probably emanates with the longing she feels for Killian, but at least they still talk. Communication is key. They’re back to the Skype calls and text messages. They’re back to the random FaceTiming and the corny messages occasionally thrown around on Tumblr. It’s not...it’s not  _ enough _ , but it’s better than nothing, and this, she can do this compared to having no contact with him at all.

 

Until, of course, one day she’s had enough of the brooding. She squares her shoulders, raises her chin up high, and reminds herself it’s not like the end of the world right now. 

 

Which is a year later after no  _ physical _ contact with each other.

 

On his end, he’s just freshly graduated and she’s proud of him. She’s happy for  _ him _ , and she’s still in her third year, but she’s getting there slowly. Of course, she doesn’t know how she’s actually managed to deal with waiting for him when her typical patience is of a six year old.

 

It’s just another day of her in her dorm, working on framing some photos, when someone knocks. Emma knows for a fact that Ruby doesn’t ever knock since this is their dorm, and no one ever visits them. But, she pushes her chair back and stands up, going to open the door anyway, but what she sees is not something she’s prepared for.

 

It’s him with his messy dark hair in a dark t-shirt that hugs his body, and a bright smile on his face as her name falls from his tongue like a prayer.

 

Emma collides with him first, or maybe together, as he buries her face at the crook of his neck where she perfectly fits, her nose pressing against the hollow of his neck where she can smell his scent. It’s warm outside at this time of the year, a stark comparison to when they went out back in Christmas in Storybrooke last year.

 

Maybe this is her imagination, some terribly sick hallucination she’s managed to persuade herself into after the amount of waiting and longing. After the little bit of hope she’s been drastically grasping onto.

 

“Wha -  _ how _ ?”

 

He’s laughing lightly. “I grabbed the first bloody plane here -”

 

She cuts him off with a kiss, her hands cupping his cheeks, his scruff pressing against her skin, a feeling to savour for sure. He kisses her back happily, their lips moving well as she tugs her into the dorm room and he kicks the door shut behind him. Emma’s hands don’t stop, though, they go to rest on his shoulders, his neck, into his hair...she can’t stop  _ touching _ him, and she’s been craving this touch of his, too, the way his hands wrap around to rest at her back, one on her lower back and the other between her shoulder blades.

 

Emma snaps out of it, Killian, too, when they hear a camera click.

 

She pulls away and looks over Killian’s shoulders.

 

“Just friends, huh, Emma?” Ruby questions with a smirk.

 

(Damn her friend for posting it on Tumblr and getting it in insane amount of notes.

 

Though, she happens to like it and save it in her drafts. For later. (For  _ framing _ .))

 

&&.

 

It’s not surprising she spends solid hours in her dorm on her bed studying History of Imaging for her upcoming exam.

 

She’s been with Killian, literally been with him, for months now. He’s found himself a job at the closest pier he could find to her college and not long after an apartment for himself. He does arrange for his things to be shipped over though, thanks to Liam. 

 

They spend plenty of time together, but they also spend a lot a part. Between her education and his job, their schedules don’t always match. However she’s more than glad to have him around at all after she missed him for an entire year. His promise of them working things out is a promise well kept.

 

“You’re  _ still _ studying?”

 

Emma looks up from her notes to see Killian walk in, a bag in hand which smells like food to her.

 

“Yeah,” she answers. “As much as I love photography, the history portion isn’t always the most interesting of things.”

 

With a chuckle, he removes his shoes and sets them aside, climbing onto the bed next to her. “Well, here’s a snack. The usual, of course, though one day, I’ve ought to cook a proper meal for you.”

 

&&.

 

When she wakes up, she doesn’t remember what happened.

 

“You’re awake,” he murmurs. 

 

In response, she simply groans, pressing her face against his chest. “Did I pass out?”

 

“Aye,” he huffs. “I set aside your notes and all onto the table so you could rest instead of waking you up to study any further.” His hand brushes some hair away from her face. “You’ve clearly been exhausting yourself, Emma.”

 

As much as she hates to admit it, he’s absolutely right. “I know, I know...I just - I don’t want to fail.”

 

“You  _ won’t _ ,” he reassures her. “But you certainly will if you don’t get enough sleep.”

 

“But -”

 

“Stubborn woman,” he says, shaking his head lightly. “No more buts, love. Get rest. I’ll be with you every step of the way until you graduate,” he promises, “and even more after that, aye?”

 

While she looks at him, his words the heavy weight of truth, she nods slowly, closing her eyes again and pressing her cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart that calms her. “Okay,” she manages to murmur before falling back asleep.

 

And she thinks she hears him say, “I hope you see me in your dreams.”


	94. i'll just lay here

Between having a best friend and knowing that said best friend is going to be having plenty of fun with overly and disgustingly mushy romantic gestures over the span of the next twenty-four hours, she knows she’s, well, just about royally screwed. Luckily for her, Emma Swan always has a plan in place for days like these.

 

That’s why she has her very own Killian Jones...except he’s not _hers_ in any sense. They’re good friends - have known each other for years (it’s simply platonic, of course).

 

It’s also one of those rare days in which she has nothing in particular to do (and an extremely unproductive night).

 

So she grabs her phone, wallet, keys, and hauls her ass out of the flat after she’s said her farewells to David and Mary Margaret (lord knows how much Prince Charming behaviour will turn up while she was gone) while shrugging on her jacket.

 

The weather isn’t all too bad this time of the year, but since it’s a little late, it’s rather chilly. The jacket can keep her warm, but definitely not for an extended period of time. Now that she thinks about it, she’s constantly scolded by having a lack of inventory for clothing that’s appropriate for certain seasons.

 

Emma makes her way down to the sidewalk, each step heavy with intention to just get to his place so she can just chill and not actually stress over two lovey-dovey romantics. Whether it’s because she’s _jealous_ she can’t have something like that or because it’s unbearably too much for her to handle are two things she can’t seem to differentiate by this point. She has been single for a majority of her life, save for the two failed relationships that crashed and burned into the dirt, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t happy with being single.

 

Though she’s always been the type with walls high up and with more walls protecting her. Her armour is thick skin, really, and there’s only so many things that can get her emotional and to open up about certain topics. Talking about overly-sweet gestures, though...they’re not one of them. They make her think about her single life, but it’s definitely not enough to do anything more.

 

After passing by a few of those city-grown trees (which never last since they’re so poorly taken care of at the beginning), she takes a sharp turn down a street, finding herself on Killian’s street. His house, which he only really manages to pay for because of the fact he rents the basement out to his friends, is in her view and boy, she’s relieved.

 

She doesn’t waste time to make her way down the sidewalk and onto the path to his house, stepping up the two little steps and then wrapping her hand around the door knob to check if it’s locked, but she finds that the door is already unlocked.

 

 _Safety hazard, you idiot_.

 

Having grown up in the foster system really makes her street smart...but really, it’s simply common sense _not_ to leave your door unlocked all the time.

 

She supposes he just simply trusts her enough...or figured out she was coming over in the first place and prepared ahead of time.

 

Emma knocks on the door anyway, just to signal her presence, then pushing the door open and stepping inside of the house. It’s clean as usual. Highly organized, everything in place since Killian’s always been the neat-freak (which is somehow attractive in a way, not that she’ll ever admit that aloud or to herself).

 

“Ah, Swan! What brings you over this late?”

 

His voice causes her to jump, looking up to see him approaching. “Killian,” she greets curtly. “But...well, Mary Margaret has David over, so…”

 

Realization dawns on his face all too easily and he nods, a warm smile curling at his lips, something that’s always made her feel welcome. “I see,” he murmurs. “Well, I’m assuming that you wanted to stay over, then?”

 

“Yeah, if that’s not an issue? I mean, now that I think of it, I should’ve called to confirm ahead of time -”

 

“It’s all good, love,” he reassures her, waving it off. Then he nods his head toward the kitchen. “Would you like a drink?”

 

Emma sighs, smiling a little. “Hot cocoa -”

 

“With cinnamon?” He turns before throwing his head back for a wink her direction. “Coming right up.”

 

She rolls her eyes at his cocky and all-knowing self before she settles herself on the rug in his living room, cursing the fact that he’s got this nice little fireplace. His house is much better than her and Mary Margaret’s.

 

&&.

 

Emma’s jacket is thrown haphazardly on the couch behind her while she nurses a cup of hot cocoa with cinnamon in between her hands. The mug is warm and it smells like the sweetness of the hot cocoa but also the scent of the cinnamon sprinkled on top. And considering she’s not the best with small talk, she just stares at the flames burning in the fireplace. This house is somewhat old but it certainly feels home-y.

 

The feeling of a blanket draping over her shoulders catches her attention and she looks up, Killian smiling down at her as his hand squeezes her shoulder gently.

 

“Couldn’t handle Prince Charming and Snow White tonight?”

 

She snorts. “I can hardly stomach them in the first place. I love them and all, but... _damn_. Their love is sickening sometimes.”

 

Killian laughs (his laughter warms her more than this hot cocoa in her hands), sliding down next to her on the floor and crossing his legs where he’s sitting. His knee presses against her thigh, but she doesn’t care. They’ve always been close, for the most part.

 

“I’ll sleep on your floor tonight. Don’t worry about me ruining your couch.”

 

“That’s nonsense, Emma.”

 

She pinches her brows together as she looks at him. “I’ve already inconvenienced you already -”

 

“Bloody hell, you stubborn woman,” he states, a smile on his lips while shaking his head as he nudges her shoulder with his. “I’ve a spare bedroom. Unoccupied and as pristine as it could possibly get. You’re sleeping in there, no questions asked.”

 

&&.

 

Emma wakes up to sunlight on her face and it’s disgustingly too warm for her so she groans and rolls onto her other side, pressing her face into the pillow that’s not hers.

 

At least, that’s when she remembers she isn’t in her bed and she’s still at Killian’s.

 

It’s that realization that causes her to open her eyes and stare forward at the other side of the bed that is occupied by Killian himself. And she has _no_ recollection of asking her to sleep with him or her asking him to sleep with her. Her brain gears grind, but she comes up with no answer, which is definitely weird.

 

“Go back to sleep, Swan,” he grumbles, and she rolls her eyes.

 

For some reason, despite sleeping in the same bed and waking up with no memory of them getting into said bed, it’s not scaring the hell out of her, which is _weird_.

 

So damn weird.

 

Though, she does happen to yawn and close her eyes again. The bed shifts and her eyes peel open to see that he’s facing her, and they’re _really close_. For a brief moment, she blinks, once, twice, maybe three times, and then he’s smiling at her lazily, his hair an awful mess across his head and forehead, and she can’t help but smile back at him.

 

She’s known him for five years, and she’s always had this stupid, terrible crush on him (that she will never, ever admit), but he never seemed to feel the same so she gave up.

 

Friends are better than ruining it in the end with no friends, after all.

 

“I can practically hear you thinking.”

 

“I’m not thinking that hard,” she murmurs.

 

An eyebrow raises. “You have your ‘I’m very much thinking’ face on.”

 

“Yeah? Well all I’m wondering is why we’re in the same bed since I don’t remember asking you to come to bed _with_ me.”

 

“Well, you passed out in front of the fireplace, love.” He lets out a bit of a yawn. “I carried you here, but, well, you didn’t want me to go, thus I stayed at your request.” He huffs a breath and shakes his head. “So I figure you were sleep talking, then?”

 

All of a sudden she feels herself blush and she absolutely hates blushing, but she just shrugs. “Maybe. Though you’re a nice sight to wake up to.”

 

And there she is. Flirting. Complimenting him. _No crush, definitely_. Sarcasm in her own head.

 

Killian’s grin is so wide and it lights him up so much. “Am I now?”

 

“I’m not repeating it again.”

 

For a few moments, her heart and head wage battle with the idea of making a move now, and she’s been in fear for at least four years...so instead, she just shifts forward a tad bit and presses her lips against his gently. Emma fears that maybe she’s overstepping her boundaries, ruining this five-year friendship, but then he’s kissing her back and she realizes her fear is nothing.

 

His arm wraps around her and then tugs her closer against him. “I’ve been waiting five years for that,” he murmurs against her lips. “Took you bloody well long enough to show me a sign.”

 

And she swears, _swears_ , she’s about to make him sleep on the floor.

 

In his own house.

 

Or maybe she’ll just push him off of the bed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was never that good at writing things and uploading consistently


	95. burns my lungs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this gets a lil heated, so if you're not into sexual tension and make-out sessions (and just a tad more)...well, best you skip!

Knocking on the door, he patient waits for an answer. When the door swings open to reveal his best friend of four years, Emma Swan, he smiles at her in which she returns.

 

He strolls in with a bottle of champagne, though he really isn’t going to be drinking that. He’s always been more of a rum type of guy.

 

“Figured that since I’m late,” he says, “I had to bring some compensation for my lack of punctuality today.” He’s typically early, but traffic outside is terrible during this time in New York. Nothing but July 4th proving to be a hell of a difficult time to travel.

 

“Hardly late,” someone says.

 

Turning to the voice, he sees Victor, lounging comfortably on the couch. David is there, too. He wonders where the rest of the ladies are at.

 

Emma walks up beside him after the sound of the door shutting. “Mary Margaret’s in the kit -”

 

“Hi, Killian!” Mary Margaret shouts.

 

Killian laughs at her being cut off. “Well, that’s fairly obvious now.”

 

“And Ruby should be here soon, too. Robin, too,” Emma continues, rolling her eyes at him before going to take a seat on the single loveseat.

 

Raising an eyebrow in simple amusement, he goes to to the kitchen, placing the champagne bottle on the closest empty counter before greeting Mary Margaret who seems to be brewing up quite a large meal for all of them.

 

The party’s yet to start.

 

&&.

 

“Seven minutes in heaven!” Ruby exclaims.

 

Everybody is at least a little tipsy, including him. Except his alcohol tolerance has always been rather hard, so at least he’s still thinking logically. Killian wants to say no, but he knows that saying ‘no’ will only push them further into it. He glances over at Emma who’s sitting across from him on the floor. She looks a bit flushed herself, her faint red cheeks, but he hasn’t commented on that. He’s been her best friend for four years, he can’t bear the idea of ruining anything between them.

 

However, he’s also been in love with her for four years, too.

 

Obviously, it’s a hell of a bloody fucking mess. He’s kept his feelings to himself (four years is rather long), hasn’t mentioned a thing to anybody. Not David or Robin, not Victor, either. All of his close friends have zero idea of the fact that he’s  _ very _ in love with Emma Swan. Not that he makes it obvious at all in the first place. Initially, he’d tried. He flirted with her, but she’s always just brushed him off. Unfortunately. So he knows for 110% that Emma Swan is uninterested in him beyond friendship.

 

His eyes linger on the blush on her cheeks before he gets pulled back to the present when they start to talk some more.

 

“Well, obviously  _ I’m _ not kissing anyone beside David,” Mary Margaret comments.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ruby says, waving it off. “No one expects otherwise, you two lovebirds.”

 

David looks like he’s about to throw a fit over that. It’s so obvious all of them are drunk to some extent. David’s the angry sort of drunk. Ruby becomes the party raiser, Mary Margaret is the giggler (and she  _ hardly _ gets drunk, so it’s really intriguing), Emma seems relatively unfazed for now (though she’s the emotional drunk, he’s learned from years of dealing with that). Robin and Victor aren’t anything too specific, they’re just the average sort of drunk.

 

“So...Emma, Killian, Robin, Victor, and I will participate!”

 

“Uh -” Robin rubs the back of his neck, “- I’m not certain Regina would approve of this -”

 

“Come  _ on _ , it’s July 4th. Let loose,” Ruby grumbles, taking one of the many emptied beer bottles and plopping it down on the floor.

 

Then she spins.

 

&&.

 

It’s dumb. He shouldn’t have participated in the first place.

 

Killian drops his head against the back of the closet door and groans, closing his eyes. This is not how he’s wanted to spend his night.

 

“Guess the next time we play seven minutes in heaven, we don’t play at all.”

 

He laughs, shaking his head lightly as he peels his eyes open to look at her. It’s dark in here, clothes surrounding them on each side besides the door. “Aye, it seems we’ve learned a valuable lesson tonight,” he says, agreeing with her. He should’ve expected this. It’s Ruby.

 

“We can just...not make out,” she suggests casually.

 

“ _ You two have to make out! _ ” Ruby shouts from the other side of the door.

 

Killian groans even louder this time, turning around and banging his fist against the door. “Bloody hell, Lucas, let us out!”

 

“ _ Not until you two kiss. _ ”

 

Huffing a breath, he shakes his head and turns back to Emma. He knows that kissing her, let alone making out, is not going to happen. As much as  _ he _ would love to do so, he knows she’s not going to allow that. Emma’s a friend. A game of seven minutes in heaven can ruin everything here, and damn it he values this friendship more than anything. If he can’t be the lucky bloke to have her, he sure as hell isn’t going to ruin what he currently has.

 

_ Bloody buggering fuck _ .

 

&&.

 

It’s getting warm and sweaty in the closet. The door is locked from the other side. It’s been well more than seven minutes. Fifteen, probably.

 

His jaw has been clenching in and out for the past five minutes and he can’t handle this anymore. He knows for a fact Emma isn’t attracted to him, but standing here in this isolated amount of space is making him doubt himself. Killian wants to press his own lips against hers and feel hers move against his. He’s been dreaming about swiping his tongue across her lips for years, has dreamed about pressing her up against a wall or taking her to bed. It’s not just physical attraction, he knows that, but it’s all still quite tempting regardless.

 

He may be an honourable man, but he’s a man nonetheless and he may or may not have had fantasies.

 

Hands clenched at his sides because he’s tempted to reach out, to brush his fingers over her jaw or to thread through the strands of her hair, he attempts to inhale a deep breath. The silence on Emma’s part isn’t helping anything. She’s just staring at him and he’s doing the same in response and it’s honestly taking all of his own self-control to not do something regrettable.

 

A part of him, despite the darkness, thinks that he can see a sense of desire in her eyes. How he manages this is unknown to him, but if that’s desire and lust, then  _ fuck _ .

 

Due to this, he squeezes his eyes shut, too, trying to think of something else.

 

_ Think of puppies or dragons or something else _ , he tells his brain,  _ anything but Emma Swan _ .

 

Except, well, he inevitably fails because the thought of  _ Emma Swan _ begins to circle in his head. Self-control is getting even more awfully difficult. He shouldn’t be feeling this way, not when he knows she doesn’t... _ like _ him.

 

He’s just about to cool down a little bit (a little is better than none), before he hears movement. Opening his eyes up, he finds Emma closer than she was earlier. “Swan?” he croaks out, and he curses himself internally for that dryness in his voice. 

 

“You okay?” she questions curiously.

 

Licking his lips, he stares into her eyes ( _ too close _ , his mind says) and swallows thickly. “Uh...ah…aye, I’m - yeah, I’m fine,” Killian responds, stuttering through all of his words like an utter ponce.

 

Even though there’s somewhat of a fair distance between them, it feels like his body is producing more heat than earlier. 

 

Emma’s head tilts to the side slightly. “You look like you’re going to die.”

 

“I - well, that’s certainly possible given our circumstances,” he manages to say, not sounding anymore like a fool than earlier (or so he thinks, at least). “We could die of dehydration, love. Or starvation...or even running out of oxygen to breathe.”

 

“You’re rambling,” she comments.

 

“No -”

 

That gets cut off by a tug of his shirt. His lips are against hers and he’s hardly registering that fact. It takes him a solid second to make sense of the fact that they’re kissing. At first he’s entirely hesitant, but that hesitancy disappears and his arm slides around her, pushing her back. The sound of the closet hangers scraping against the metal rod echos in his ears but that hardly bothers him. Instead, all he hears is heavy breathing between the both of them, and the small noises she lets out when he pulls away and dives back, his lips rather insistent against hers.

 

All of what he’s doing is purely off his own instincts. Killian’s hand slides back to her waist, squeezing it as he feels her hands pressing against the back of his neck. He has to pull away to catch his breath but his forehead is pressing against hers, nose against her cheek. 

 

“Emma -”

 

“Shut up,” she tells him, “just kiss me.”

 

Before he can think over that request, his hands slide down to her thighs, lifting her up, legs wrapping around his waist. Killian turns their positions around, keeping her balanced and up against the door.

 

“As you wish,” he breathes against her lips, before leaning forward and capturing her lips against his again.

 

Everything that comes after is completely a mess. His body had been a lot warmer earlier, but now he’s burning like a literal fire. Every place she touches, every bit of bodily contact he makes, sets him aflame a little more. They kiss like desperate lovers, even though they’re nothing close to lovers. Killian kisses more with desperation and want, kisses with all the force inside of him that has been waiting for this moment for the past four years of his life.

 

It’s a flurry of more movement between the two of them, but eventually, he’s on top of her on the floor, trying to catch his breath after the best make out session of his life.

 

“Have you…” He trails off as he inhales and exhales a couple more breaths. “Have you realized it’s gone quiet out there?”

 

“Move,” Emma tells him. 

 

Killian pushes himself off of her, watching her stand and knock on the door while calling out Ruby’s name. Then she tries the others, but there’s not a single response. 

 

They give it a few minutes, but nope, not a single noise.

 

“Shit,” she mutters, “they probably passed out.”

 

Closing his eyes as he continues to heave a little bit, he leans back on both his hands. “They locked us in here and now we’re  _ really _ going to die,” he jokes lightly.

 

Emma laughs, plopping down next to him. “It’s getting hot,” she mutters.

 

“I know, I’m rather devilishly -”

 

“Not you, Killian.”

 

The next thing he knows is she’s stripping her off the long sleeve shirt she’s wearing and he’s just staring like a complete fool.

 

All of this feels like another one of his fantasies. He gulps and then blinks a few times, his eyes looking through the dark, only to see that she’s now in a tank top. It’s not like he hasn’t seen her in that before, but circumstances have changed between them.

 

“Are you going to sit there and stare?”

 

Killian coughs, choking on absolutely  _ nothing _ . “Bloody... _ fuck _ , Emma,” he whispers before he pushes himself back at her, pressing her against the carpeted floor, his fingers digging into the fabric of the carpet.

 

It’s going to be a hell of a long night, but he’s not against that. Won’t be anytime soon.

 

&&.

 

He wakes up with all the pain in his neck and a soreness in his muscles he hasn’t experienced in a long, long time. Killian also happens to wake up to fighting a hell of a headache that’s bashing his head in.

 

And...he’s half dressed. Not even half, really. He just has his boxer briefs back on.

 

Attempting to get up is a poor idea. Emma is still asleep, it seems, her head resting on his chest.  _ God _ , he remembers everything that transpired last night. He closes his eyes and forces himself to stay calm, knowing that everything could go entirely haywire now that he’s literally had  _ sex _ with his best friend in a  _ closet _ at his friend’s place of all places.

 

While panicking, he also basks in this moment. The woman he’s been in love with for the past four years is sleeping with him, albeit in a terrible position and place and under  _ terrible circumstances _ .

 

Of course, this peace and quiet lasts for a short amount of time when he feels Emma tense up above him, but then she seems to relax. 

 

“Killian?”

 

He swallows. “Emma,” he says softly.

 

“Damn,” she mutters. “We really did it.”

 

“Aye,” he responds with a slight laugh. “We really did. If you don’t want it to mean -”

 

“No, no,” she quickly interjects, “it means something. I - well, I’ve...uh...liked you? For a while?”

 

He raises an eyebrow, looking down at her. “I swear to God, love, I thought you didn’t like me more than a friend.”

 

Emma stays quiet for a few moments. “I’m not a words person. You know that. And I thought  _ you _ didn’t like me.”

 

Killian then laughs louder, closing his eyes and letting himself bathe in relief. “I’ve liked you for quite a while now,” he tells her honestly. Not  _ love _ , but like. He can’t risk it yet. He then reaches his hand out, searching for his pants, which are somewhere nearby, he’s sure, before he finds a phone. Killian picks it up and then turns it on, wincing at the light, but checking the time. “It’s been the entire night,” he says, “we should get ourselves dressed.”

 

His headache has luckily subsided for the most part, but he’s exhausted. He really just wants to get into a bed and never crawl out again.

 

“We should,” Emma agrees.

 

&&.

 

They sit and talk for a while after they get themselves dressed. Calling Ruby has been pointless since she doesn’t pick up.

 

He rolls his neck around, wishing they hadn’t slept on the floor in the first place.

 

Eventually, light floods into the closet and he closes his eyes, his arm automatically coming up to block the light.

 

“Oh  _ damn _ , I forgot about you guys last night.”

 

“No shit, Ruby,” Emma says. 

 

She stands and then he stands, too.

 

“I’ve got a hell of a hangover. At least I remembered to free you.”

 

Killian laughs and shakes his head. “If you hadn’t I believe we would’ve busted the door down instead.”

 

&&.

 

They head their separate ways, but not fifteen minutes after he’s home, laying on his couch and trying to understand what happened in the last twelve hours, his door flies open and Emma walks in. (This is what happens when he gives her a key to his place.)

 

“Swan? To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks, sitting up on his couch.

 

“I’m...bored,” she says. “But, well...I guess I sort of need clarification over... _ us _ .”

 

Quirking an eyebrow up, he tilts his head to the side slightly. “Us?”

 

“Yeah, us,” she says. “So...are we  _ really _ a thing?”

 

Killian can’t help but laugh aloud, but he composes himself and then huffs a breath. “If you want to call it that...I suppose so. Your friendship means the world to me, love, and I’d rather not lose that. And to be more? I would be absolutely honoured.”

 

He watches as he sees her shoulders slump a bit and a smile lift at her lips. “More it is, then.”

 

He grins at her. 

  
Four years of patience does pay off in the end.


	96. you are the sea, upon which i float

 

Her mornings are the same rinse and repeat process. While she dreads getting up early, she does it anyway, and if anything, it’s merely to fit in the morning run she takes across the beach and to the docks before taking a turn home to shower and get ready for the rest of her day as Sheriff of Storybrooke.

 

But to be honest, there’s nothing ever to really be worried about in this small town.

 

And no, she totally doesn’t sacrifice sleeping in for the hot guy — Killian Jones — she passes every time during her hot run. No, she doesn’t notice the way his short sleeve shirt clings to his skin or the way sweat droplets roll down his skin. Emma doesn’t care about the way his hair is plastered to his forehead slightly and the way his lips are _just_ parted as he exhales.

 

(Perhaps she’s a tad insane.)

 

It’s not like she talks to him, though. They nod and smile at each other, perhaps change a silent hello as they both have motivational music blasting into their ears, but never once have they really _spoken_. And yet, it feels like she knows him plenty already just from observing him. Not just while he runs, but the occasional times of noticing him at work on his ship or seeing him at Granny’s. Sometimes she might just be eyeing him from afar, taking notice of the stubble that runs along his jaw, accentuating the sharpness.

 

And god forbid her from speaking about his voice. Gentle and smooth.

 

(She’s in over her head, for Christ’s sake.)

 

Today is just like any other morning. A bit of chocolate milk to start off her day and some cereal before she’s heading out for her run. Earbuds shoved in and music playing, it’s quick for her to settle into the right mood.

 

She paces herself easily, just like she always does. While Emma doesn’t admit it, she’s always had a liking for the sea. Whether it’s the way the waves can be gentle but then violent, or the feeling of the breeze on her skin along with that salty scent she inhales, she doesn’t know, but Storybrooke being  a seaside town is certainly an advantage.

 

There’s something about this morning where the fog covers over the seaside, little light shining through as she runs deeper into the mist, her skin and clothes becoming damper — slightly uncomfortable, but bearable. The steady beat of music keeps her going as she closes her eyes for a few brief moments, but that causes a collision she hadn’t seen coming. Literally and figuratively.

 

“Fuck —”

 

The word is out of her mouth but the rest lacks completion as she realizes who exactly she’s run into.

 

Killian Jones. Of course.

 

“Woah, love,” he says. “Steady on your feet.”

 

She blinks a few times, catching her breath as she looks up at him. With a close-up of his face, her body only inches from his, Emma is suddenly aware of his grip on her wrists and the shade of blue his eyes are. “Oh, right. Sorry.” She steps back, licking her lips absently as she tugs her earbuds out. “I — uh —”

 

“No need to explain,” Killian interjects smoothly with a small smile. “You were in your zone. I should have noticed, and for that, my apologies.”

 

Gentleman, too. Another thing to add onto the long list of things she knows about him that makes him appear to be walking perfection.

 

Emma clears her throat and nods. “Hardly your fault, but, well...guess I can’t dismiss your apology.”

 

He smiles. “Emma Swan, Sheriff of Storybrooke, aye?”

 

“Oh,” she breathes out with a small laugh. “Yeah. That’s me. You’re...Killian. Killian Jones.”

 

“I can only imagine you’d know my name, though then again I can wager you know just about everyone in town.” His smile widens, offering her his hand. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Properly.”

 

Taking his hand and shaking it, she smiles back at him. “Better than smiles and nods, that’s for sure.”

 

&&.

 

It’s a hard thing to try to get him out of her head. All Emma can think about is the encounter with Killian earlier in the day, and now that she’s sitting in Granny’s with David for some lunch, she can’t help but stare at the door and _hope_ for the guy to walk in.

 

There’s just simply something about the sight of him that brightens up her day. She’s not sure what it is, but wherever he goes, her eyes seem to follow. Ridiculous, Emma knows. It’s not just physical attraction, even if he is a sight for sore eyes. He’s the type of person to relax with or to have some fun.

 

Though he’s a bit cocky. She’s learned that.

 

For a man who looks like _him_ , she’s not surprised he’s got a bit of an ego to show. At the least, Killian means no harm with his behaviour. He’s merely a bit smug and witty and she has no complaints. Besides, the way she pulls away is a part of her walls, just as much as his own defenses are the jokes and the flirtatious comments.

 

Her eyes have fallen to the tiles of the diner floor and she’s attuned to the noise of the patrons in the diner, but the jingle from above the door catches her attention just as David speaks up.

 

“You okay, Emma?”

 

“Yeah,” she responds a little too quickly. “Yeah, just fine.”

 

David raises his brows and glances behind his shoulder as if he knows. “Oh no. Don’t tell me you have a crush on that sailor.”

 

Emma scoffs at the unlikeliness of it all, though his best friend — basically brother — is right. “Of course not. We just met this morning.”

 

“It doesn’t mean you can’t have a crush on someone from afar,” he responds. “Besides, everybody knows he’s as charming as it gets. And Mary Margaret calls _me_ charming.”

 

With a roll of her eyes, she shakes her head and sips on her hot cocoa. “I don’t like him that way. We’re barely friends, alright?”

 

Yet, when Killian makes eye contact with her a mere two minutes later, she smiles and waves at him as he does the same in response. And no, she doesn’t miss the way his face lights up — the crinkles at the edge of his eyes and the small dimples in his cheeks.

 

No, she doesn’t.

 

(She does completely miss the way David smiles a little while he texts Mary Margaret.)

 

&&.

 

Nothing really happens, but it’s not like she’d been anticipating on anything.

 

They’ve gotten closer, but it’s nothing more than friends, and she doesn’t know how many times she has to fend off Mary Margaret from giving her all these ridiculous and overshot speeches.

 

She and Killian have long since exchanged numbers and send some messages back in forth, but nothing _real_ has happened. Or, well, everything is technically real, but nothing has developed in any romantic way. Besides, she’s not into him. He’s a nice guy and all, but she’s _not_ falling in love with him.

 

Originally, she had been going to get up early to go on her morning run, but she forgot to set her alarm, so here she is now, lounging about in bed lazily on her one day off. She sighs as she stares up at the ceiling, wondering about her life. Emma really has a non-existent love life, so she supposes she can forgive Mary Margaret for her attempts of encouragement. David, on the other hand, despite being the one to have told Mary Margaret, is all gruff and has a distasteful look on his face every time she mentions or even hints toward Killian Jones.

 

&&.

 

She’s barely out of the shower before she receives a phone call from David.

 

“Where’ve you been?”

 

“In the shower, and it’s my day off.”

 

David grunts. “Have you _seen_ the weather outside? Townspeople are flipping themselves over it.”

 

Emma furrows her brows as she rounds the edge of her bed to open the blinds and look out the window. Rest assured, it’s a definite storm brewing.

 

“So I guess this means you need me?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

&&.

 

Grabbing her keys, she slips her jacket on before shooting Killian a message, hoping that he’s at home and no where on his ship.

 

Emma goes out on patrol for a bit while David handles everything else from calls to the station to ensuring that Granny’s is open for people to take refuge if need be. The winds have begun to pick up, howling loudly like cries of pain, along with the splattering of rain. The leaves are flying up and about everywhere on the street as she takes a slow turn, her windshield wipers moving swiftly across the glass.

 

Eventually, she becomes more jittery because Killian hasn’t responded to her message when he usually does so immediately, or at least a few minutes later. The nervousness and anxiety becomes too much and she drops David a message that she’s going by the docks to go check up on him.

 

It’s just not like Killian to ignore her message.

 

When she arrives at the docks, she knows it’s a futile effort to bother with an umbrella, so all she does is tug her leather jacket around herself tighter before pushing through the heavy winds to find her friend. Except, his ship isn’t where it’s usually docked and her heart falls, feeling like it’s being blown away with the vicious, unforgiving winds.

 

“Damn it, Jones,” she mutters, squinting her eyes and then rubbing at them to get the water out of her vision.

 

(Her phone goes off three times in the cruiser, all frantic messages left on voice mail from David.)

 

&&.

 

The power goes out for a brief period of time and she grows more anxious the longer she goes without a response from Killian. However, at least the power manages to come back on a while later as the winds begin to settle and the rain no longer feels like an assault.

 

She’d managed to get her way back to Granny’s after spending a long ten minutes out in the pouring rain, pleading for any sign of Killian. She’d  only come back to the diner to be wrapped with a dozen towels. She’s soaked to her bones, the chill getting to her as she sits in a booth next to Mary Margaret, the blankets and towels warm around her shoulders as she nurses a cup of hot cocoa.

 

Emma can’t find it in herself to drink her favourite concoction, not while her friend is out there and possibly _dead_.

 

For quite some time she stares out the window covered in rain droplets, the sky dark and gloomy, thunder booming in the distance.

 

Perhaps it’s odd that she cares so much, but she is the Sheriff, and everybody and anybody is her business in one way or another. Especially a friend, and _especially_ because it’s Killian.

 

After a while, she closes her eyes and prays to whoever is out there, to bring him home safely.

 

&&.

 

When she opens her eyes, she comes back slowly, the chatter of familiar voices surrounding her. Emma’s vision clears up after blinking a few times, lifting her head and realizing she’d fallen asleep.

 

“Welcome back, Swan.”

 

She purses her lips and her brows crease together even more as she realizes the shoulder she’d passed out onto.

 

“Killian,” she breathes out in relief, letting the fact sink in that he’s alive. “You’re okay.”

 

His smile, a blinding and lovely thing, lights up his face. “Aye, that I am. I’m sorry for not responding to your messages — no signal out there, as you can imagine.”

 

Despite it being an awkward angle, she moves to wrap her arms around him — much out of instincts — for a hug. “I was worried sick.”

 

“Dave told me so,” he murmurs, sliding an arm around her shoulders. “And for that, I’m sorry, too. Truly.”

 

It feels...

 

She doesn’t know how to describe it, but being here next to him feels like _home_. She breathes in the musk he carries about him, that bit of salt and rum and something else that’s distinctly Killian Jones.

 

&&.

 

David had been right.

 

She does have a huge crush on Killian Jones, and it turns out, she has one with her as well. So...things sort out. She may have been in over her head, noticing all the smallest things and then coming in terms with the idea that she truly cares for him, but that’s in the past now.

 

A few weeks of dating very casually then becomes something serious. Small kisses here and there soon become languid, deep ones, full of passion. Late nights spent on the couch soon transitions into falling into bed with each other, hands in innocent places or not.

 

She’ll never forget the initial and lingering scare of losing him.

 

Opening her eyes, she notices Killian is awake. “’Morning,” Emma groans out, stretching her legs a little.

 

“Good morning, love,” he mumbles quietly, his smile lazy. “Up for a early morning run?”

 

Quietly humming, she debates her options. “Should we race?”

 

He chuckles, his fingers skimming the hem of her shirt. “Perhaps, though I’m certain I’ll be the victorious one.”

 

“You’re on.”

 

Emma knows that as easily as the waters have swept Killian onto shore for her, it’s just as easy for him to be pulled back and swallowed into the depths of the sea.

 

All the more reason for her to hold onto him and every memory they make together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, i actually wrote something. it's been 84 years, i don't know who still cares about my writing, but if you're reading this, thank you!!


	97. if a moment is all we are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title dedicated to chester bennington, lyrics from the song “one more light” by linkin park. my childhood angst band before i even knew angst was a thing. 
> 
> a little and v random au fic where emma swan struggles with her self-worth and killian sees the brilliance of this woman and gives her a...pep talk. or something like that. (established relationship.)
> 
> unbeta’d and all that. I AM RUSTY I HAVEN’T PUBLISHED ANY FF IN A LONG TIME

Emma Swan is an enigma, a puzzle of many pieces, jagged and smooth- one he has always wanted to solve, but never actually fit back together. 

 

She has loved and lost, trusted and been betrayed, been set aside as if she were the leftovers no one ever wanted. Never once could he have imagined her to be treated so poorly. Killian recognizes the pain in her eyes and the loneliness that drives some of her actions, but never once has he commented on it. He’s made it an effort to show her what a heart full of love can do.

 

Ever since he came across her on a whim years ago, her running right into him as he exited the local Starbucks for his coffee, he’d never been able to stay out of her life. She’d knocked that hot coffee out of his hands and all over him, but he’d excused her and said that worst things could have happened. 

 

He has dedicated himself to be the single puzzle piece in her story that would never get thrown off the board, to never be slid under the rug. And, in the three years of knowing Emma Swan, he wagers he knows her better than she knows herself.

 

Or at least she allows him to think that.

 

Within the last week, Emma hasn’t been forthright with everything, and though she doesn’t owe him any explanation, he’s simply been worried (as her friend  _ and _ as her significant other). The few times he’s managed to talk to her face to face, the bags under her eyes were heavy and her voice was scratchy. Something wasn’t right, and Killian decided to do some more research- which, conclusively, led to nothing since she liked to cover her tracks all the time.

 

He texts her, asking if she wants to go out for some lunch, but she responds a few minutes later saying she’s busy. course she is. Sighing dejectedly from her refusal, he offers to come by with some of her favourite chinese food, hoping it’ll bribe her to see him this time.

 

He receives no answer.

 

&&.

 

It may nearly be 8PM, but he’s been putting off going to her place in the case that she’d just throw him out.  _ Where’s the harm in trying? _ he questions in his head. Killian drives to her place, chinese food still warm and in the bag. He has every opportunity to turn back, to save himself the rejection, but he’s far too determined to crack that bravado of hers.

 

She’s clearly struggling, and he can’t bear being the bystander. 

 

The old lady keeps the door open for him as he’s become a regular in the apartment, everybody recognizing him easily as Emma’s friend, and more recently- boyfriend. He smiles and quips some stupid line which gets the granny to smile, and he waves goodbye to her as he takes the elevator up to Emma’s floor.

 

For a woman who chases criminals up and down crowded streets and dark alleyways, she sure as hell doesn’t care about her own safety. The door is unlocked and he pushes it open, glancing around. “Swan?” he calls out. There’s no answer as his voice echoes, and he purses his lips, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

 

It makes no sense for her door to be unlocked if she’s not home.

 

He takes his shoes off and sets the takeout on the kitchen counter before peeking around. It’s dark, the only light coming in from the windows where the curtains don’t fully cover. Killian sighs, padding around to the narrow hallway that leads him to her bedroom. He slowly turns the door handle, pushing the door open.

 

She’s on her bed, sheets rumpled all around her waist.

 

It’s not a cause for concern, but she’s clearly had a rough day...or night. Or something.

 

Perching on the edge of the bed, he brushes stray strands of hair away from her face, the tips of his fingers gently grazing over her skin. He thumbs the bags beneath her eye gently. “Oh, Emma,” he breathes out quietly, hoping that this sleep will bring some life back to her. He shifts a little, pulling the covers over her shoulders.

 

She mumbles something incoherently, and a smile quirks his lips briefly.

 

Leaning over, he presses a kiss to her forehead and leaves her bedroom reluctantly, deciding he can just crash on her couch for now.

 

He keeps himself occupied with a random book he locates on the dusty shelf, clearly having been untouched in a while. In fact, he’s so invested in the novel he’s startled out of the reading when Emma comes down the hall, hair a complete mess and the shirt she has on crooked, pulled to one side more than the other. It would be laughable if he weren’t aware of her mental state.

 

“Sorry, I make bad company,” she jokes, smoothing her hair out a little.

 

Shrugging, he closes the book and sets it down on the coffee table. “I did text you.”

 

“I know.” She sighs and sits down next to him. 

 

To him, she still looks weary and exhausted, but certainly better than the other times he’s seen her. “Want to tell me what’s going on, love?”

 

“Well, no, not really.” She leans a little against him, shoulder to shoulder. “But I should, right? That’s what you’ll tell me.”

 

“I would suggest it, aye,” he murmurs, slowly taking her hand in his. Killian inhales a deep breath before letting it out slowly, twisting his position so he can face her. “You know, whatever it is that is troubling you, you can always talk to me- you can trust me.”

 

She smiles a little, that small, sad curl of her lips that has him furrowing his brows in more worry. “You know I’m not good at this. Talking and sharing emotions- the real things.”

 

“I’m a mighty fine listener, I’ve been told.” He smiles encouragingly, thumb stroking the back of her hand repeatedly. “There’s nothing wrong with talking about it, Swan. We all have our bad days, and you just happen to have someone who’s willing to do anything to ease the hurt and share the burden.”

 

The silence grows between them, but he can tell that the gears are turning in her head, and he’ll be patient. Killian isn’t here to force her into anything. She’s tense, her shoulders a little stiff and her head hangs as she stares at her lap, but eventually she just sinks into the couch.

 

“My birthday comes up in a few days,” she starts and he nods, “which I’ve been dreading. I mean...just the fact that another year has gone by and I’ve just...done nothing much with my life. Is this how it’ll be twenty years from now? Barely scraping by and chasing down bad guys?”

 

He hums in thought, eyes flickering between their hands and her face. “If you don’t chase those bastards, who will?”

 

“There’s always others-”

 

“ _ Emma _ .” He cups her cheeks, fingers sliding against the curve of her jaw. Killian may be a bit fed up with this behaviour of hers, but he’s not going to stop trying with her. “I’ve been where you are before and doubting your own self-worth will not help you out of this hole, trust me.” Sighing softly, his thumb strokes the apple of her cheek over and over, the curve and smooth skin nearly distracting him from the task at hand. 

 

He thinks about all the things he could say to pull her out of the darkness, to allow her to see the light.

 

“Three years ago, when I first met you, I was angry with the world, believing that my existence had no purpose than to feel pain. Yet, for some peculiar reason at the time, I decided that there was no reason that I had to stop living. I figured out that you... _ you _ brought me out of that hole I’d buried myself in.” He smiles as the memories flood back into his mind. Slowly, he drops his hands back to his own lap, tilting his head a little as he looks at her with a particular fondness that’s indescribable. “You didn’t know back then, because I didn’t bear to wear my heart on my sleeve and risk it be broken again.”

 

“Killian-”

 

He lifts his finger up to her lips. “Shhhh, Swan, allow a man to explain, will you?”

 

She sighs and purses her lips, remaining quiet.

 

“You were never a...conquest or a prize. You were my next adventure, the next leap of faith I would take after everything that happened with Milah and Liam.” He rubbed the back of his neck before running his hand through his hair, forming the words in his head. “You never knew, but you brought me back and I  _ swore  _ to myself that I’d never leave your side, regardless of whatever hardships we were to face. It’s never too late to create change for yourself or take risks- all it took for me was the right person and it all changed.”

 

“And you think you’re the person for me?” she asks quietly.

 

Killian laughs softly and shakes his head, his smile gentle. It pains him to say it, but he can’t be that selfish, not with her. He loves her, he does, but he can’t force anything onto her.

 

“No, it doesn’t need to be me. In fact, it doesn’t even need to be a person.”

 

She takes a moment to think for herself. “And say if I figure it all out and you were that person?”

 

“Then I’d be more than honoured.” He leans forward and kisses her, gentle and loving, fingers tangling in a few locks of hair. He pulls away, just a little bit, the tip of his nose brushing lightly against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “If my time was running out and I had to choose one person to spend my last few precious minutes with, it’d be, undoubtedly and irrevocably, you.

 

“Emma Swan, you are worth more than any jewel in this bloody universe. You just need to see it and believe it for yourself, darling. And don’t mistake me, it will take time, but you’ve all the time in the world.”

 

To see that look on her face, the one of pure adoration without much of a trace of fear, is absolutely priceless.

 

“And I, of course, will always, _always_ be by your side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would love any comments! c:


	98. the person i have become

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don’t usually do baby fics, but this sorta ended up coming to me??? had my feelings listening to ed sheeran as usual so it just tumbled out. i ended up writing this all in lowercase and i’m too lazy to fix it, so… unbeta’d and what the hell is editing lmao.

there have been some extraordinary sights that killian has witnessed after all his years at sea.

 

nothing, however, will ever beat the beauty of seeing his wife and child before him on the very ship he once considered the only thing he truly  _owned_. it was once his home, his reminder of his failure to liam, his naiveté and his loss, but life has a way of running and cycling through new experiences and surroundings. now, the golden light shines-- dramatic, he knows-- on the both of them.

 

standing quietly at the helm of the jolly, his thumb idly brushes over the rough wood, eyes trained solely on emma-- his lovely, beautiful emma-- holding their daughter,  _hope_ , staring out at the horizon. she's attached right to her hip, their little lass.

 

(it's only fitting given all the hope they've been holding onto for these last few years.

 

hope was all he had decades ago, and it was all he had just two years ago.)

 

they're not far from port, unwilling to go too far away in the case that someone requires their presence somewhere, somehow, but they're distanced enough from the docks that they can appreciate the calm waves and sight of yellow and red bleeding together. the day's almost over, another one among the life they've decided to share together, and never once would he have imagined to be living this life of his, one of some peace and quiet.

 

captain hook, husband and father.

 

storybrooke was never one for peace, but lately, it's been  _more_ than enough. the leaves can blow and the rain can come, but the battles against monsters and villains have vanished. this patch of land has become his home, his memories built as one foundation, his feelings another, and his life with emma swan--  _jones_ \-- as the final one. killian is undeniably a bit of a hopeless romantic, not that he's quite willing to admit that, but it's true. his heart has been in emma's hands since neverland, even though he'd been slightly reluctant to consider that she could be a prime figure of his future after what had happened to the one other woman he'd fallen in love with decades ago. his doubts then were real, and even now, he still wonders how he deserves  _any_  of this.

 

yet all of that is for naught now, those doubts and worries settling quietly inside of him, the wounds healing over slowly as he forgives himself for all of his old sins-- to amend all of the bridges he once broke. killian will never be able to bring back the people he killed out of impulse, to apologize to the families he once broke apart, but he sure can try his damn hardest to be a better person.

 

emma has helped him along the way, made him realize his ways and the fact that he's had to forgive himself. while her forgiveness matters, it has nothing to do with his past crimes. he's his own person, and all of it is  _his_  responsibility. killian has to answer to it himself.

 

the cry from their toddler snaps him out of his thoughts. his lips curl up into a half-smile, one of fondness and warmth, his heart full of love and happiness as he steps away from the helm, descending the few steps down to see to their lass.

 

they haven't been moving at all, but he's been standing guard at the helm anyway, lost in his all-consuming thoughts.

 

"i think she may miss her dad," emma murmurs, trying to cheer up hope by bouncing her a little bit. "that, or she's in need of her nap."

 

killian chuckles, extending his arm as his wife settles their daughter into his side. "i'd hope so, love," he says, words coming out quietly. his hand rubs the back of their child in small circles. "it'd be most unfortunate if she was not keen of the sea."

 

"because her father is a pirate?"

 

"aye, matey," he jokes, grinning as emma rolls her eyes at him. it's also a plus as the cries from hope simmer down. he presses a kiss to the top of her little head. "'s alright, wee one." killian hums a sea shanty for some time, and it grows so quiet besides the breathing in his ear, the creak of the old jolly beneath his feet, and the waves lapping against the ship, he's convinced this is absolute heaven.

 

"well, she's fallen asleep."

 

he sighs softly and nods ever so slightly. "that she has. here --" he stops, carefully handing their sleeping daughter back to emma. "-- i'll sail us back to port so we can go home."

 

&&.

 

the door clicks shut behind him and he sighs, leaning his head against the wood. he stretches his arms over his head before he takes his shoes off, setting them to the side.

 

the entryway has become aligned with several of emma's boots, a few toddler shoes, and his own pair of shoes.

 

he looks up at the staircase, rubbing the back of his neck as he walks toward it, heading upstairs and down the hallway, peeking his head into the nursery room to find that the wee lass is fast asleep in her crib. killian smiles and pulls out of the room before going a room down and to the bedroom he shares with emma, a light dimly on as he sees the yellow illuminating out into the hall.

 

as he steps in, emma comes out of the washroom, her hair tied up into a messy bun, changed into her sleeping-wear. "oh, hey. tie the jolly down all secure?"

 

he bobs his head in a nod as he perches on the edge of the bed, hand wrapping around his hook, turning and pulling it out of the brace before he could shed his jacket off.

 

it still surprises him how easily it's come-- this domestic life.

 

killian removes most articles of clothing, save for the boxers he's grown extremely fond of wearing. he folds them neatly and sets them on top of the dresser before he returns back to the bed so he can remove the brace attached to his arm. the bed shifts beneath him as emma moves around on it, feeling the sudden warmth of her palm pressing between his shoulder blades.

 

it's become their little nightly routine, and he has to admit there's something oddly comforting about it all.

 

"tired?" she asks, hand rubbing up behind one of his shoulders.

 

he works at the straps of his brace. "just a tad," he replies softly. "after all, you're the one who said the lass is mine before sunrise."

 

emma's laughter warms him just as usual, that bubbling, giddy feeling in him that never seems to go away no matter how much time he spends with her.

 

"you never complain."

 

"'course not, swan, she's our little pirate, after all." his face lights up with a smile as he puts the brace aside and swings his legs onto the bed, head turning to give her a gentle kiss. "and a sailor is always up before dawn."

 

"you're a pretty poor sailor," she mumbles, their foreheads pressed together. "sleeping in all the time."

 

killian only huffs at that. "i believe  _you're_  at fault for that. you've changed me, emma."  _in more ways than one._

 

with her nudge, he grunts as he gets out of bed, raising an eyebrow at her.

 

she settles herself in bed, comfortably pulling the bed covers over her shoulders, eyes peeking over at him. "go brush your teeth so we can get some sleep."

 

"as you wish."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can i still write? it has been awhile. also not the best when it comes to canon divergence and all that as i'm mostly a modern au writer, but i gave it a shot. thank u to all of u that still follow my writing and whatnot! extremely humbling. feel free to leave a comment or whatever!


	99. cigarette ash like wildfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> compilation of short ‘almost-ficlets’ of killian jones’ thoughts on emma swan in every world in which they know each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy holidays everybody! have a safe and lovely time with any friends & family, but if you're not out doing anything like i am, then just relax and scream at all the snow _!!_
> 
> no snow??? well then scream at the snow i have for me

 

He fidgets his fingers nervously and scratches behind his ear out of bad habit.

 

To be with her is more than any present or wish, more than any simple good luck, and he counts every day he is away from her fighting the good fight  ~~ (if it even is the good fight) ~~ . He writes letters, ink smudged on fingertips and papers crumpled with unfinished words and thoughts. Silent tears only drip onto the latest attempt and he inhales a deep and shuddering breath—

 

He is hundreds of miles away from her in an extremely uncomfortable bed that makes him long for her presence. He has made his promise to return home to her even though the doubt of it all still lingers at the back of his mind.

 

He must soldier on.

 

&&.

 

_ The Seven Deadly Sins _ . Easy to divulge in, he has already familiarized himself with all of them, though to find himself capable of redeeming himself does not come easily.

 

When he first meets her, there is lust in his eyes and greed in his actions. He is nothing but a selfish bastard even though she establishes that she cannot be tainted as he has.

 

It is impossible— she touches him and he does not burn from her purity. He touches her and she does not shatter before him into dark dust. She is his undoing, and he is not certain how a demon such as himself is capable of the redemption she speaks of. Still, he trusts her— he takes his leap of faith.

 

&&.

 

It is understandable that he is a currently a foe to her, yet it does not hurt any less when there is a nozzle pointed at him and a grim and threatening scowl on her face.

 

He is reminded about the betrayal and a fate he deserves of being soaked from head to toe, although a guiltless grin spreads over his face nonetheless. Being amused is not quite what she expects.

 

&&.

 

A photograph is all he has left and this...it is  _ not _ the way he wants to remember her.

 

The voice of her fades, the memories in his head blurring with every counting second, and—

 

_ Bloody hell. _

 

The house does not feel like home— if the person you have vowed to spend your life with is gone, how can  _ anywhere _ feel like home? Life is brittle and cruel and merciless; he thinks he can still see her in his dreams, and he wants to drift away off into these dreams, remember, see,  _ touch _ her once more as if nothing has changed, yet the morning light streams through, warming his skin and waking him from his deep slumber. What remains is her face leaving the slightest trace of her presence in his foggy mind.

 

Nimble fingers lift up the frame of a photo that sits on his nightstand, and he clenches his jaw as brief flashes of his dreams come back to haunt him in the waking world. His gaze lingers for a moment long before placing the frame back down onto his nightstand, only with it face down this time around.

 

_ "I'm still here." _

 

He smiles to himself as he stretches his arms above his head, light shining perfectly onto the ring that still sits on his finger. He rolls it back and forth a few times, and for once, it is like closure.

 

&&.

 

There is not much that he remembers, but her voice is as familiar as it gets. It warms him,  _ envelopes _ him and convinces him that he is more than safe in her hands. Her eyes hold a gentle fondness that he cannot quite recognize  ~~ (just yet) ~~ , but he wants to try— wants to be the man that she desperately wants him to be. She is worse for wear, a crease in her forehead that makes him want to reach forward to smooth it out, the faintest remnant of a frown on her lips that would surely look better as a  _ smile _ —

 

His voice croaks as he speaks out words worth nothing and she shushes him as if she is a mother telling her child to stop rambling before he loses his voice, and —

 

— He may not remember her, but he knows that somewhere inside of him is the man who has made her smile like an angel a million times before.

 

&&.

 

It is the way her eyes light up, crinkles at the edges as if she has seen heaven herself. Every day he returns home to  her to find the same expression the moment he steps through the door, and he wonders how he possibly deserves such a marvel of a woman.

 

It is the way his throat closes up and breathing drops from first-nature to third, but her fingers weave their way around his, and suddenly he remembers that losing a job is nothing in comparison to the life he gets to share with her.

 

As the dust of snow settles and the chilly wind bites at his skin, her touch and eyes give him a window of warmth. The flowers wilt and the trees are barren, yet there is still beauty to be found in their deaths. He finds his beauty and reassurance in the person who stands next to him in any circumstance, any loss, grief, or sickness, and he cannot wish for any more. She is a blessing, one that he cannot describe for the life of him, regardless of all the love letters that stack up on his desk or even through the sweet-nothings he whispers into her ear during the wee hours of the morning.

 

&&.

 

There are days where his job overwhelms him, tempting him to just avoid the issues that arise, but she walks in through the door and suddenly these problems are minuscule in comparison to the holes she leaves in his chest.

 

She does not know about the fascination and love he has for her— why would she?—but he loves her nonetheless, admiring from a distance in the hopes that the Gods will have mercy on his poor soul.  _ Perhaps in another life _ , he reckons, though even that  does not sate his blackened soul. The lack of love leaves his heart and body as a desolate and lonely wasteland, and he cannot find himself moving on.

 

The love for a married woman is both a blessing and curse.

 

&&.

 

In a world of distractions, she is the sweetest to taste and the softest to touch.

 

&&.

 

A lost look catches his attention among all the chaos that tries to drown him out. She appears to be wandering, searching for something or  _ someone _ , and it is only the hesitation that stops him from taking steps toward her. Yet, when her gaze meets his, it is  as if he has seen her before, but a face like hers is  _ surely  _ unforgettable.

 

In a crowd so massive, it is unnerving. He has never once been fond of large gatherings and tonight is no different, although he finds himself able to imagine that all is gone except  _ her _ .

 

There is an inexplicable attraction, though he lies to himself to say otherwise. It is a struggle for him to let go, to allow himself to move on from his past lovers. It is not wrongful to do so, but he is afraid that wearing his heart on his sleeve will lead to heartbreak once more. 

 

However, her smile seems like she can heal his wounds.

 

It is time for him to start off the year right.

 

&&.

 

It is hopeless, they say, to ever dream of a new world where life blooms once more. They may be right, but he has been graced with a sight of wonder and purity that is beyond any new world where he is reborn.

 

Genuine words roll off of his tongue and he smiles a  _ real _ smile, however, she eyes him warily despite how far they have gotten. Honesty is what he values between them the most, communication in spite of their differences, and although this is now a world where trust is rare and every man is for themselves, he thinks he has this fairly under control. The way her eyes roll and voice raises in defiance does little to sate the curiosity that grows for what this woman has been through.

 

He wishes to tell her that she can rest her weary bones and tired soul, leave it all in his hands, but they have yet to reach that point.

 

When he proves himself over and over, showing that he is not going to abandon her like whoever has done so in the past to create her ridiculously high and reinforced walls, she finally relents. It is a breath of relief that leaves him as he watches her rest next to the fire, knowing that she  _ trusts _ him with her life.

 

As long as he can watch a little longer, he does not care about what danger they will face they next day.

 

&&.

 

Red, green, and white are the only colours he sees as he walks up the porch, the light illuminating the darkness of the night. As he unlocks the door, he can hear the crackle of fire not too far away, the red and oranges dancing like a choreographed performance.

 

When he pulls his hat off, he can hear the quick footsteps of the little ones pattering against the wooden floors and he beams, lifting them both up into his arms.

 

She stands just a step away and he leans forward, pressing his lips gently against hers in greeting until the children begin to protest about being stuck between them. His laughter is boisterous as he sets them both down, body naturally swaying toward the love of his life as he watches the wee ones scramble up the stairs shouting about sleeping before the big man with a white beard comes to town.

 

As the children are tucked away to bed for the night, he spends some time with her, stacking the few presents under the glowing tree as the fire behind them keeps them warm on a frigid, winter night. 

 

For a man who once despised the holidays, he no longer grimaces at the idea. Seeing his family’s pure excitement and joy is the greatest present of all in this life  ~~ and every other .  ~~

 

His heart is a fireplace and his family’s love is the endless amount of wood that continues to feed his flames.

 

&&. 

 

_ "In any world, at any time, darling, if even for a single and fleeting moment, my love for you burns bright like a wildfire set ablaze from cigarette ashes that light up the night sky." _

 


End file.
